From Among the Dead
by Vrinda81
Summary: The Five-O team faces a devastating blow when one of their own is killed. The truth will shock them ... and you! This is a 2nd repost but, this time, this story is here to stay. Thank you to my readers for your patience and for coming back each time.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 **I**

 _The Bishop Museum, Wednesday, May 13, 1970_

The dusky corridors of the museum were quiet at this time of day. The man in the raincoat walked casually along, stopping to admire a painting or sculpture here and there. When he got the end of the hall and the staircase that led to the next floor, he stopped to look up at the massive flight of steps to make sure no one else was there. His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked slowly up them and turned to his left once he got to the landing. He was met in the hallway by another man in a suit and tie. His face was rough and hardened, and the stone cold look in his eyes was enough to stop someone dead in their tracks. The man in the raincoat was not affected. He took a small, black plastic tube with a gray lid out of his pocket and handed it to the man in the suit.

"It's all there," the man in the raincoat told the man in the suit. "The latest message to Moscow."

The man in the suit was Philip Norton, the chief of operations for the Special Division of Intelligence.

Norton smiled for the first time since he met up with the other man. "We go into action tomorrow morning," he said. The man in the raincoat was an agent from the Washington branch of Intelligence.

"I hope your agent is willing to go along?" the Washington man asked.

"She is," the other man replied. "If she has second thoughts, we have another plan – just in case. I don't think we'll need to use it."

"The people were are dealing with are dangerous," the man in the raincoat said. "We have to have to be just as much – even deadlier."

 **II**

The morning sun had yet to cast a wave of heat over the South Pacific, but Det. Jayna Berringer of Hawaii Five-O could feel the heat hit her directly as she walked down the wharf. , were already feeling the heat. She stopped when she got outside of the _Marlitza,_ a cabin cruiser with a blue stripe down the side. It rocked gently in the calm waters of the Pacific, but Jayna felt no calmness. She felt uneasiness, as though she was being watched.

The _Marlitza_ , however, stood out in another way. It was owned by one of Hawaii's most notorious mobsters, Frank Prather, and it was currently being used as a meeting point for Prather to make his drug sales. Jayna was investigating Prather but she needed information, so she arranged for this meeting. She stood on the dock and waited.

The shot rang out and it took several seconds before Jayna realized what it was. She felt a warm sensation in her chest, like hot lead searing through. Clasping her hand to her chest, she looked down at her palm to see the unmistakable crimson stream that was blood. She fell onto the dock, the side of her head hitting the wood with a crash whose resonance got fainter as her consciousness dimmed into darkness.

 **III**

Sunlight glinted into the wide windows from the west, casting streaks of light onto the glass desk and leather armchairs. A rainbow shone in the crystal ash tray at Norton's elbow. The seconds before the voice at the other end spoke seemed like an eternity.

The phone rang in Norton's office. He picked up the receiver and spoke. "Norton," he said.

"This is Geller. Berringer's dead," spoke Patrick Geller.

"Go to the next phase," Norton said, then he heard a click at the other end. He continued to clutch the receiver as he stared out the window at the expansive ocean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **I**

The black Mercury sped down the city streets at breakneck speed. The dark-haired man behind the wheel tried very hard not to break any rules of the road while still remembering his destination and why he had to be there so urgently. His name was Steve McGarrett, the chief of Five-O, the state's elite crime-fighting unit. Steve made it to the city docks to be greeted by a crowd of curious onlookers, who stood watching as the Honolulu Police Department and Harbor Patrol officers were still searching the area. The dark-haired man got out of the Mercury and weaved his way through the crowd to the younger, curly-haired detective who was speaking to a uniformed patrolman.

"What's going on, Danno?" Steve asked his curly-haired assistant, frantically.

Danno was hesitant to speak. There was no other way to put it, so he said it as bluntly but gently as he could.

"Jayna's been shot, Steve," Danny Williams replied in a shaky voice to his older partner. He tried to maintain his composure, but was in fear of breaking down. Jayna Berringer was one of Five-O's finest detectives, and she was very close to Steve, as well as to Danny. "They raided the boat and there was a shootout. Someone shot Jayna and she fell overboard. An ambulance took her to the hospital before we got here." Danno was on the verge of panicking, but he did his best to keep calm.

Steve could only stare at the dock, too shocked to respond. The boats, the calm waters, and the people all hovering around ... it didn't seem real. Jayna Berringer, one of his most trusted officers, could be not dead. He refused to accept that.

Steve could only stare at the dock, too shocked and disoriented to respond. The boats, the calm waters, and the people all hovering around ... it didn't seem real. Jayna Berringer, one of his most trusted officers, could be not dead. His mind wasn't allowing him to accept that.

"What happened to her?" he cried. "Who shot Jayna?!"

Danno hesitated, because he knew Steve would not want to hear what he was about to say. Danno pointed to a sorrel-haired man in a green suit and black tie who stood ten feet away. Steve's eyes turned to ice as he looked at Patrick Geller, one of Jayna's former partners when she worked for Intelligence. Steve insisted that when Jayna joined Five-O, she would not take on any more cases for Intelligence, yet there was Geller. Steve stormed up to him, ready to wring his neck.

"What's going on?" Steve asked, retaining his icy tone.

"Nothing, Steve," Geller spoke coldly. "I saw her fall, but nothing else. I got one of the people on a boat to call the ambulance."

"Why were you here?" Steve shouted, clenching his fists. He was doing all he could to keep from punching Geller. Steve's relationship with the men of Intelligence was a very sour one. He felt they were intruding on some of Five-O's investigations.

"She wasn't on a case for us, if that's what you're thinking," Geller replied, snarkily. "She asked to meet me here. There was some information she needed about a case she was working on for you … about Frank Prather."

Steve's blood was about to boil further. _Why would Jayna need information from Intelligence about Prather?_ He would deal with Geller later, but he didn't know what to do now. Steve ran his hand along the back of his neck, closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths. He had to keep a cool head. He could not lose control and let his emotions get in the way, but his insides felt like they were on fire. He was angry, upset, and anxious. He felt like he was in the middle of a nightmare and would wake up at any moment.

It was when the uniform officer approached him that Steve remembered this was no nightmare. The officer showed Steve a badge, still in its leather case, inside a plastic evidence bag. The numbers on the badge read 30285 – Jayna's badge number. In another bag was a gun – Jayna's gun. Both were covered in blood.

"Steve!" Che Fong called out. Che was Five-O forensics expert. He ran up to them, most likely to explain what the officer was showing him, but Steve didn't need the explanation.

"I'm sorry, Steve," Che went on. "I got here as fast as I could. They already took her away … we got these from the paramedics …"

"Oh, God!" Steve gasped, folding his hand into a fist and holding it against his mouth in an effort to keep his emotions in check. Danno placed a hand on his boss's shoulder, concerned that the wall Steve built to contain his emotions would crumble.

"Officer Quon," Danno addressed the uniformed patrolman, "get those people's statements if you haven't already, take them down to headquarters, and have them look through the mug books. I want a name and face for that man who shot Jayna."

Office Quon nodded and turned to go back to the young couple. Danno took Steve aside. The Harbor Patrol captain, a thin, athletic man named Tony Manning, approached them, tipping his hat up slightly so Steve could see his eyes, then said. "We haven't found anything, Steve. No one says they saw the shooter, but he could have been on one of these boats, or hiding somewhere else. We'll check everywhere."

Steve nodded, tiredly, but understanding. "Make sure I'm the first to know," Steve stated, emphatically. He turned and walked away, with Danno joining him by his side.

 **II**

Steve stormed through the hospital doors with Danno following close behind. The nurses were startled at first, and one ran up to stop Steve before he got any further. She was a Hawaiian, with thick hair styled into a puffy bouffant. Her eyes were heavily shellacked in moss green eye shadow and lined in kohl black eyeliner. Her mouth trembled, sensing the wrath Steve was about to let out.

"I'm Steve McGarrett from Five-O," Steve said, showing her his badge. "This is my partner, Danny Williams." Steve gestured to Danny, who showed the nurse his badge as well. "Was Det. Jayna Berringer brought in here? She had a gunshot wound."

"Wait here," she said. "I'll check with Dr. Clayton." She disappeared down the hallway, turned left at the end of it. The waiting was an eternity to Steve. He leaned with his back against the way, closing his eyes, and hoping that this was all a nightmare from which he would soon awake. He could hear Danno's footprints plod away for a minute, then return. He opened his eyes to see his friend and second-in-command hand him a cup of black coffee. He could smell its fresh-roasted aroma and feel it warm his nostrils.

"I think you need it," Danno said, putting the Styrofoam cup in his friend's hand.

"Thanks, _aikane_ ," Steve replied. He took a deep sip. He finished off the coffee and handed the cup back to Danno just in time for a doctor, dressed in traditional white lab coat and stethoscope, to approach him followed by the nurse who went to get him. The doctor had a straight face which could mean anything, but Steve was careful not to read into it, lest he gets his hopes up. He was slightly shorter than Steve, with short black hair and thick-rimmed glasses.

"Mr. McGarrett and Mr. Williams?" the doctor asked, extending his hand. "I'm Dr. Clayton. Please follow me." The two detectives followed the doctor down the hallway, the same way the nurse had gone earlier.

An impending feeling of doom came over Steve. There was no way for him to definitely tell what Dr. Clayton was going to say next, either good or bad, but Steve sensed the news was not good.

They stopped outside a room, when Dr. Clayton turned to both men and said, "I'm sorry, gentlemen. We tried, but couldn't save her. She lost too much blood, and the bullet hit her vital organs …"

Steve stopped listening. The doctor's words seemed to fade into a dim echo, as the room started to turn fuzzy and whirl around him. "Oh, God, no, no, no!" he cried as Danno put his arms around him to keep him from falling. Tears fell down the second-in-the-command's face like a river as his boss buried his face in Danno's shoulder. Steve nearly collapsed but Danno, consumed in his own grief, kept his commander from falling, helping to steady him as the bouffant-haired nurse escorted them into a nearby waiting room.

 **III**

The blonde-haired woman sat behind the typewriter, typing with fast precision and accuracy. Her pink-manicured fingernails grazed the keys with every stroke, and when the letter was finished, she pulled the paper out of the paper wringer and placed it in the pile to her right. Then she took another sheet of blank, off-white paper, placed it around the wringer, and started typing again. Her icy blue eyes continuously stared at the type levers as they hit the type guide. Three paragraphs later, and the letter was completed. She retrieved it from the wringer, folded it, and slipped it into an envelope, then sealed it and repeated the process. Her boss, looking handsome in his naval uniform, strode by, picked up the sealed envelopes and checked the addresses.

"Nice job, Maria," he said. "Your speed typing sure pays off."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Maria Dotsenko replied, her icy eyes turning a deeper shade of blue. Lieutenant Walter Callister, U.S. Navy, tipped his hat to her and went into his office. She knew the closest she would ever get to any special attention from the lieutenant were those brief smiles and compliments of her work. With a quiet sigh, she returned her attention back to the typewriter.

Callister went to the phone in his office and picked up the receiver. He dialed a number and listened while it rang. The voice at the other end simply said, "Yes?"

"It's done," Callister said. "Berringer is dead."

 **IV**

The hospital morgue was wall-to-wall stainless steel, as cold as an igloo, and permeated with a deathly and eerie silence. It was not a place anyone wanted to be if they could avoid it, but Steve and Danno had gone done there many times in their careers, only this time, it was a moment they dreaded most of all.

A morgue attendant opened a steel drawer and pulled out a slab. Steve still would not associate the sheet-covered corpse with his close friend and assistant, Jayna Berringer, but it was the reality that had still not sunk in.

Dr. Clayton lifted the sheet, and there was Jayna, looking like she was asleep. Steve shuddered. Danno held onto him tightly. Steve stared at the dead girl, his eyes watering up in tears.

"How did she die?" he asked, choking up. "How many bullets?"

"Two bullets – right into her abdomen. She lost a lot of blood on the way here, and even a transfusion was not enough," Dr. Clayton spoke gently.

Danno kept his grip on Steve. "Thank you, Doctor," he said.

"You're welcome, Williams," he replied. Danno led Steve away as the morgue attendant covered Jayna again and pushed her slab back into its compartment.

Outside, in the hallway, Steve said to his second-in-command, "Whatever it takes, Danno, however long it takes …" he clenched his fist and pounded his knee, "I'm going to find who did this to her."

Danno knew his boss meant every word he said, and would make good on them.

 **V**

The halls of the Palace were quiet, more so than usual. Over the past few hours, Steve's senses had become more acute that the sound of the floorboards creaking resonated like thundering drums to his ears as he and Danno walked up the long flight of koa wood stairs to their office. Inside, everyone tried going about their business as usual, but the two men could tell that everyone was thinking of Jayna.

Jenny, Five-O's red-headed secretary, had been trying to type out a letter, but when she looked up and saw the dire looks on Steve and Danno's faces, she couldn't control herself any further. She took out her handkerchief and sobbed bitterly into it, then got up from behind her desk and walked as fast as she could out of the office and into the hall. Danno rushed out to comfort her, as Det. Chin Ho Kelly – another of Steve's aides – approached him.

Steve motioned for Chin to follow him into his office. With their colleague, Kono Kalakaua, in tow, the two detectives joined their boss inside.

Steve clenched his teeth and pounded his fist onto the desk blotter. "Dammit!" he exclaimed. Steve paced around by his desk, breathing in hard and rubbing his forehead. He looked at the clock. It read nine o'clock exactly. He ran his hands over his head, then rubbed the back of his neck as his mind took him back in time. It was only three hours earlier that Jayna had been shot, and two and a half hours since he got the call from HPD. He was asleep, and the ringing of the phone woke him. At first, he had thought he was dreaming when Sgt. Lukela of HPD told him that Jayna was on drug bust when a gunfight erupted and one of their suspects shot her into the water.

"Jayna was collecting evidence against Frank Prather. This was his drug deal," Steve said. Frank Prather was one of Hawaii's biggest organized crime operators. He dabbled in illegal gambling, drug dealing, prostitution, and extortion, and Five-O had been building a case on him for the past year. Catching some of his men in the act of buying several bricks of cocaine would have been the icing on their cake.

Chin stuck his pipe into his mouth and let out some puffs of smoke. Chin was a father many times over, with a brood of eight rambunctious kids, including two daughters a few years younger than Jayna. He thought of her as a daughter, and was as concerned for her as he would be if it was one of his own children missing. At this moment, though, he didn't know what words to say that would bring comfort to Steve.

Steve was filled with a mixture of emotions – anguish, shock, disbelief, anger, sadness – and he tried very hard to keep those emotions in check. Danno's entry just then provided a temporary distraction.

"I told Jenny to take a break. She's gone out. Mele is trying not to break down," Danno said, referring to the Polynesian stenographer, who was stationed at the desk in front of Jenny. Steve inhaled once more, and then walked back to where his men were standing. It was time for him to resume command.

"Chin," Steve began, "you and Kono go down to HPD and question the men they captured in the raid."

"Got it, boss," Kono said as he and Chin walked out.

The phone rang and Steve turned to pick it up. He was greeted by Mele's voice. She sounded calm, but he could hear the sniffles in between words. "Steve," she said, "the Governor … _sniff_ … wants to see you … _sniff_ … right away."

Steve picked up his coat and started to put it on. "Thanks, honey. I'll be right in." He hung up the phone then looked up at Danno. "That was the governor," he told him, as he slipped his left arm into the corresponding sleeve of his jacket. "He wants to see me. Danno, go over and search Jayna's apartment. I'll meet you there."

Just as the men were leaving, Jenny came back in, with a handful of tissues balled up in her hand, her eyes still watery, and her nose red. Steve put his hand on her shoulder as he passed by, looking at her, to silently ask if she was all right. Jenny nodded and patted his hand.

 **VI**

Governor Paul Jameson sat solemnly at his desk, trying to finish some last-minute paperwork. When Steve McGarrett entered, Jameson got up and met him halfway across the room.

"Hello, Steve," he said, shaking his hand. "I'm very sorry." There were no other words he could think of that could express his feelings. The Governor looked into the steely blue eyes of his state police chief. Though those eyes were trying to convey a tough, cold demeanor, Jameson could see the sorrow and anguish behind them. He was as fond of Jayna as Steve and the rest of his staff were. He recalled how he nearly dropped the phone when the commissioner of the Honolulu Police Department phoned to tell him that Jayna had been shot and disappeared.

"Thanks, Paul," Steve replied. They weren't usually so informal with each other except during very sensitive moments. "I know I always told my staff that I expected the best from them. I would never push them any harder than I would push myself. Jayna always went above and beyond what was expected." Steve was now talking more to himself than to Paul. "She cared about the people she protected. She cared about all of us. There was nothing she wouldn't have done for me, or Danno or anyone else ... and now, I don't feel like I'm doing enough for her!" Steve clenched his right fist and ground it into his left hand, as he spoke those last few words with in anger and frustration. Steve's fury melted away. The stereotypical male attitude of not showing emotions was overruling his true feelings.

Governor Jameson put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "I think Jayna wouldn't mind you showing that you're human, Steve. It's alright to grieve." Steve, the stubborn Capricorn goat that he was, continued to hold back the tears.

Steve thought back to how he had first met Jayna. She was a slender girl, with long, thick, silky black hair framing an oval face, and cascaded down her shoulder blades. Her eyes were large, brown, and dazzling. When Steve looked into them, he was lost in their serenity and beauty, temporarily forgetting all the chaos and turmoil in the world. When she smiled, they seemed to sparkle. She had a tall, well-built, and agile frame that she had inherited from her Indian ancestors on her mother's side. Her physical endurance bettered most Navy men Steve knew, and there were occasions when he was confident she could surpass even himself. However, Jayna also possessed coldness and an ability to detach herself emotionally when a situation warranted – no doubt passed on to her from her paternal German and English lineage – and essential on certain operations.

"She was the best at what she did." Steve strolled from the Governor towards the bookcase and glanced at all the morocco-bound law volumes and reference books, their gilded titles standing out from their darker backgrounds. He turned to face the Governor. "Now, I don't know where to find out who shot her. No one is admitting to it …"

"That's not the Steve McGarrett I know," Paul Jameson said, pointing his finger at the state police chief. "The Steve I know would not give up, and would not even allow a negative thought like that to enter his mind. Jayna would not want you to think that way." His voice was very emphatic and forceful.

Steve tried to smile, but it was all to hide his near-hysteria. "Jayna would laugh at me if she heard me speak this way." More memories came back, like a flood of water breaking through a dam. Jayna was a foreign language and criminal justice major in college. At the time, she did modeling to pay some of her tuition and fees, and when she graduated, she continued the modeling while working as a linguistics analyst for the Department of Intelligence's Pacific Theater – known as SD-6. Jonathan Kaye, the department head, saw more potential in her than in translating Polynesian and Southeast Asian languages, and he encouraged her to join their intelligence program. Jayna was all over the Far East and Hawaii, using her cover as a model as an excuse to travel, while exposing Communist and terrorist spy rings, and catching military saboteurs. Her record was stellar, and Steve had the pleasure of working with her on several occasions, when Intelligence loaned her to Five-O for certain cases. When the chance came to add another member to the team, Steve didn't hesitate to ask Jayna if she was interested, and she in turn did not hesitate to accept.

It was a union that was more blissful than any marriage. The two of them connected in ways that Steve could not fathom. Jayna knew how he thought, and could finish sentences for him. If he had an order to issue, she would have started on it before he could tell her. When it came to watching out for him, Steve didn't have to worry. He trusted her to have his back. He had those same feelings for all his men but, with Jayna, there was something deeper. There was no romantic undertone between them, but he always felt a strong love for her. He didn't know if that love was mutual, and hoped he still had the chance to find out. Those happy thoughts were slowly starting to drown in the deep, dark blue waters off the harbor, the current situation breaking through his reverie. He knew he had to keep thinking that she was alive and would be found, safe and unharmed. It was the only way he could keep going.

"What have you found so far?" the Governor asked.

"Nothing that gets us anywhere," Steve said. "They've searched the area around the boat. There were bullets lodged in the walls and an on the wharf. Che Fong is examining the bullet that killed her." He stopped, looked at the ground, and tried to suppress his grief once again as his eyes clouded over with moisture. It was all too much for him, yet he had to get through it.

The Governor patted Steve's shoulder. "You'll find her killer, Steve. We've been through a lot of scary moments before. This one is no different. We'll pull through. Now, go out there and do what you do best and find her killer, and put Prather behind bars ... and I want to be the first person you tell when you do."

"It's a promise," Steve assured Jameson, then straightened his shoulders, and shook hands with the Governor, before striding out of the office with a vow to fulfill.

 **VII**

Philip Norton stepped into Jonathan Kaye's office in the middle of the Boeing 737. It was an airplane on the outside but inside, it was a plush office, with a solid oak desk, leather armchairs, and a chocolate velour couch. Jonathan Kaye sat behind the oak desk and greeted Norton with a nod as he entered.

"The plan is working, so far," Norton said. "McGarrett doesn't suspect a thing. He's going through the usual stages of grief – shock, denial, and now anger. I'm waiting for mourning."

"That'll come in due time," Kaye said. "What about the men on the boat?"

"Five-O will question them. They were just selling horse," Norton responded. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. His eyes looked strained. "McGarrett is good, Jonathan, very good. He'll get suspicious and keep digging till he finds the truth."

"And that's why you're here," Kaye replied impishly, "to make sure McGarrett doesn't sniff out the truth. I know how headstrong and hotheaded he is. Do what it takes within the law to keep him out of our hair. He can't interfere with this operation, or we've had it – and so will he."

"You know how close he and Jayna were," Norton said. "He practically raised her when she came here to go to school at Manoa. She's not some regular employee to him. To keep him busy while we go about our plan is not going to be easy, and the Russians will give us more than enough trouble."

"That's the nature of the spy business," Kaye replied. "There is no such thing as enough trouble."

 **VIII**

Frank Prather was still on edge. He was not resting easy, even though one of the biggest obstacles to his operation was seemingly obliterated. He had to be absolutely sure she was gone. The two men who entered his office were a contrast to his well-groomed, stylish self. The first was a burly Hawaiian called Burt Akila, who some sweat off his forehead and coughed. The second – a scruffy, dirty blonde named Greg Krause – stood next to Akila.

"Berringer's dead," Akila said. His large, six-foot-two frame seemed imposing to the smaller Prather, but the Hawaiian knew his place and who was in charge. Prather felt no fear of him.

"Are you sure?" Prather asked, suspiciously.

"Yes, she's lying on slab in the hospital morgue," Krause replied.

"Thank heaven for little mercies," Prather snorted arrogantly and snubbed out his cigar. "We still have to be careful. These cops are like weeds – they're everywhere. There'll be others watching us, and they're watching us now. Be careful with everyone. Get word to Izabella and Xiaotong."

"Got it," Krause nodded and left. Prather stared at the smoldering cigar, it's smoke rising up and dispersing in the air.

 **IX**

Steve was all set to leave for the day. He told Danno to run along, and said the same to Kono and Jenny. He stared at the frosty ice cream cup that sat on his desk. Danno went out and got some for everybody. He told Steve to eat it before it melted. Luckily, the cup had been in the deep freezer for over an hour, and was just starting to soften. Steve picked it up, the ice crystals melting into his skin. It was Breyer's Chocolate Ice Cream. Steve realized he hadn't eaten since that morning. He didn't have any appetite the whole day, and that ice cream was starting to look good. He took the lid off the cup, picked up the plastic spoon that lay next to it, and dug in. The soft, creamy mixture slipped down his throat and into his stomach, giving him a feeling of comfort.

He remembered how Jayna loved ice cream, chocolate also being her favorite flavor. She would sometimes pour chocolate sauce and sprinkles over it. Steve started to smile again, for the first time in several hours. Spoonful by spoonful, he put the ice cream in his mouth, letting it rest on his tongue for a while before swallowing. Before long, the cup was empty and he took it into the washroom to clean it before putting it in the garbage can. On walking back into his office, he found Governor Jameson waiting for him. The Governor smiled at the head of his state's police unit as Steve came in.

"I see you finally got some food into you," Jameson said.

"At least I get some serving of dairy," Steve said, dropping the ice cream cup into the waste can. He sat down in the cream armchair and Jameson took the same matching chair in which Danno sat earlier.

"I won't sugarcoat things, Steve. I know how you felt about Jayna. I was very fond of her, too, and I want you to do whatever it takes to get the people who did this. You have the full cooperation of HPD. Commissioner Dann said he'll help in any way. I also got the Hawaii Bureau of Investigation to help. They'll investigate Prather and his men even further. Manicote told me that Akila and Krause are cooperating. They'll tell all they know about Ching-Lan Shen's murder, but they don't know anything about Jayna's. They'll give full dispositions tomorrow …" Jameson looked at his thumbs and started to fidget with them. Steve knew his boss was trying to think of what to say next. There was silence for several minutes, the only sound coming from the ticking off the clock on Steve's desk.

"Have you contacted Jayna's family?" Jameson asked.

"I spoke to one of her sisters. She was upset, naturally, but said that she and Jayna's other relatives would come down. They weren't angry, just devastated." Steve sighed. "I don't know how I'm going to face them." He tapped his fingers on the table.

"It wasn't your fault, Steve," the Governor tried to assure him. "You didn't know what would happen."

"But I could have been there, or ordered more backup!" Steve cried.

"All in hindsight, but no one could have foreseen that earlier," Jameson tried to comfort him. "Now, you have to be a cop again, and think like one, and find the people responsible for Jayna's death.

"From what I've seen you and your team do in the past, nothing is impossible." Jameson got up and put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "You've got to go back to being Steve McGarrett, the tough cop, the top cop. That is why I chose you to head Five-O, because I know you can get the job done. Jayna wouldn't want anything different."

Steve stared out at the full moon. "You know, Paul, Jayna would have told me the same thing."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 **I**

Patrick Geller raced up the front steps of the Territorial Building and then to the second floor. He slowed to a walk as he entered into the light blue room and flashed a smile at the pretty secretary answering phone calls while she typed.

"Go right in," the secretary told the man. "Mr. Norton is waiting."

"Thanks, sugar," Geller replied as he walked right into the office.

Philip Norton, the director of Special Division's Pacific Intelligence department, turned around from a map he was reading on the wall and approached his visitor.

"Hi, Pat," Norton said.

"Thanks, Phil," Geller replied. "I told McGarrett she came to meet me to ask about Prather. Steve didn't buy it."

Norton sat down and lit a cigarette. Blowing out a long puff of smoke, he said, "I didn't expect him to, but it was the best explanation to give, since he wouldn't take too kindly to a story about us trying to get Jayna to work for us again. McGarrett can't get in our way. Jayna was his golden girl, and until he finds out what happened to her, no one on this island is going have a moment's peace."

"You can't blame him," Geller said, pushing back some wavy, strawberry blonde locks from his face.

"No, I can't," Norton said, snubbing out the cigarette. "I can only imagine the hell he is going through, but we have a job to do nonetheless. Try to go easy on him, but be firm. He's going to go after us and dig as deep as he can. Keep him out; use a heavy hand only when you have no other recourse."

"Will it come to that?" Geller asked, incredulous.

"You know McGarrett and what he is capable of," Norton responded grimly. "He can shake this entire rock just to find what he needs. When it involves one of his people, nothing gets in his way."

 **II**

Louis Palani said little, except that he wanted to speak to his lawyer. He tried to hide his nervousness, but up against Steve McGarrett, it was futile. An ashtray full of smoked-out cigarettes sat on the table between him and Steve, their smoke filling the room with a nicotine-scented redolence that was as sickening as the way Steve felt toward him. This was the man who led his dear friend Jayna Berringer to her death.

"I'm not telling you nothing till I speak to my lawyer," Palani reiterated.

"That's your right," Steve replied, "but it's not going to hide the fact that you told Jayna to go the dock this morning, on account of some drop that was supposed to happen. If it was your bullet that killed her, it's murder one. If not, you'll have to face an accessory to murder charge." It was hard for Steve to utter those words but as a cop, death was something he had to come to terms with, not just for himself but for everyone around him. He wasn't going to let that thought overtake him.

"None of your buddies in Prather's gang are going to bat for you. You can only save yourself," Lt. Nishimura piped in. He waited patiently for Steve to say what he wanted to say to Palani for before beginning his line of questioning.

"I've said all I'm going to say!" He snubbed out another cigarette in the ashtray. Steve was not buying his story. He had a strange feeling there was something else going on, but could not pinpoint it.

 **III**

Seeing the inside of where a person lives can tell much about them, more so than speaking to them. In this case, searching through Jayna's apartment told Steve and Danno volumes more about Jayna than they already knew. They knew her as the strategic, dynamic, cunning former intelligence agent-turned-Hawaiian state police detective, but they only knew bits and pieces about Jayna as a woman.

The living room walls were painted light sea-foam green, the carpeting was a light gray-green, and the furniture was a hodgepodge of antique, modern, and psychedelic pieces. The latter came in the form of a lava lamp that carried on its fluorescent blue and red illumination. Danno checked out the books in the bookcases, which ran the length of the wall opposite the front door. There was a bar at the end of the room, that was not heavily stocked – save for a bottle of bourbon, one of coconut rum, an ice bucket, and some glasses. Around the corner from the bar, on the right, was a dining table, and beyond that was the kitchen. Sliding glass doors ran parallel to the dining table, leading to a lanai with a nice view of the neighboring buildings.

Danno's eyes went back to the books on the shelves. If just seeing where a person lives can give a greater insight into their life, seeing what they read can help someone delve into their mind. The books spanned different genres in both fiction and non-fiction. There were paperback detective and spy novels from the forties to the sixties, with their original illustrated covers, as well as the three-in-one Detective Book Club volumes, some dating back to the thirties, in their original morocco bindings. All of Ian Fleming's James Bond novels were present, as was a set of encyclopedias, dictionaries – in English and other languages – and books on ghosts, World War II, and paleontology. Danno nearly smiled to himself, never knowing before that Jayna was interested in prehistoric animals. It almost took his mind off the real reason for him and Steve being there.

As he looked over at his partner, boss, and friend, Danno noticed that Steve's movements were almost robotic. Steve was going through the motions of searching the apartment, but it didn't look like his mind was really there. The first-in-command stared blankly at the items he held in his hand, and then put them back where they were, then turned around and went into the kitchen.

The bedroom was decorated in royal blue, light blue, turquoise, and creamy yellow. The carpet was royal blue, the walls were light blue, the curtains were turquoise, and the vanity, night table, and tall dresser were creamy yellow. The curtains were tied back with white-braided ropes with tassels dangling at the ends. There were thinner, white curtains with embroidered flowers stretching across the window, hanging from brass curtain rods. Beige vinyl blinds that could be pulled down gave the room its privacy.

The bathroom was a combination of light blue and white, and was clean, except for some small grime stains around the drain in the sink. The bathroom window was closed and locked, and the place had a scent of Clorox and soap. He knew Jayna was big on cleaning, so the smell didn't surprise him in the least. The medicine cabinet contained the standard toiletries – toothbrush, toothpaste, nail clipper, jar of Vaseline, wrapped bars of soap, bottle of astringent, containers of dental floss, a pair of hair-cutting scissors, and bottles of eye makeup and nail polish removers. The shower housed a bottle of shampoo, one of conditioner, and a loofa. The bathtub was sparkling clean.

 _Time to check out the bedroom again_ , Danno thought. Jayna's makeup case and jewelry box were sitting on top of the vanity. There was a hairbrush, with strands of Jayna's long, black hair still stuck between the bristles, lying next to a container of talcum powder. A large bottle of Chanel No. 5 stood behind them. Jayna wore that perfume all the time, Danno remembered. Often, he would know she was around just by smelling that warm, spicy mist. Steve loved that scent, too. Danno pictured her standing in front of this mirror every morning, putting on her makeup, powdering her neck with the large powder puff covered in talcum, and spraying a little of the Chanel No. 5 under each ear and on her throat. The thought made him smile again, but the sadness quickly returned.

Steve's footsteps into the bedroom interrupted Danno's contemplations. "Nothing in the kitchen," the lead detective told his partner, blankly. "The last time the landlady saw Jayna was last night. She said she saw her when she came home from work, and didn't notice anything unusual." He walked over to the bed and sat on the mattress as he continued, "… except that Jayna's rent had been paid – six months in advance."

Danno whirled around and faced his boss. "Where did Jayna get the money to pay her rent so fast?"

"That's another question to add to a growing list of them," Steve said, and got up to inspect the desk next to the window. It was an ordinary wooden desk with a wall hutch. Jayna's mail – credit card, electric, gas, water, and telephone bills were piled in different compartments. The drawers contained lined paper, white and manila envelopes, and other standard office supplies. There was nothing there that told Steve anything.

"Nothing here, either," Danno said, opening up the makeup box and closely examining its contents. They were all ordinary cosmetics, and nothing out of the ordinary hidden in them. The jewelry box yielded the same results, but something made Danno stop mid-search.

"What is it?" Steve asked when he noted his second-in-command's hesitation.

"I just remembered," Danno said, "Jayna's cameo necklace." He was referring to the oval-shaped pendant, dangling from a golden chain, which Jayna had worn frequently. The cameo was the silhouette of a woman's profile, facing the right, set amidst a pinkish-red background and framed by a gold-plated casing. It was one of Jayna's favorite necklaces, as she had once told Danno and Steve. "It might not mean anything, but I don't see it here."

Steve's eyes wandered around the room as he sat on the edge of Jayna's bed. Rummaging through her personal things, he felt like they were … violating her. _Violating_ was not the right word. Steve would hate to think of violating Jayna, even if it was only figuratively. However, just to be in her bedroom, touching her most personal belongings, made him feel like he was touching her. He handed back the bracelets that Danno had taken out of the jewelry box, and the younger detective put them back. He stopped, then pointed at the mini drawer.

"Look at this, Steve." He took out a brass key and handed it to his boss. Steve looked it over. It was an ordinary key that could fit into a door knob, lock, or a jewelry box. Jayna's jewelry box didn't have a lock. The number 217 was engraved on the bow. It didn't have any cuts, indicating it might be the key to a mailbox or locker. Next to it was a gold watch - a man's watch.

"It's not a house key. It looks a post office box key or a key for a bus, train or airport locker," Steve said. He examined the watch. "It's very pricey. No initials. Jayna doesn't have a boyfriend or any male friends who come up here that I know of. It may not mean anything, but I know enough to why a man takes off his watch in a woman's apartment ..." Steve tried to control his anger. He knew Jayna better than that, but he had to be certain ...

"We'll get on it," Danno replied as Steve handed the key and watch to him.

Steve then directed his eyes to the dresser. A photo of Jayna and him at the Governor's Annual Ball sat on top in an elaborate silver frame. She was wearing a navy blue evening gown with crystal beading around the neckline and he was in a tuxedo. It reminded Steve of happier times, but could not make him forget the dark day they were having now. Steve resumed his search, opening the dresser drawers.

They revealed nothing interesting, and Steve went into the closet. Pulling out the raincoats and jackets, Steve searched the pockets and found nothing more than loose change and store receipts dated several months back. The purchases were for standard groceries and department store items. The closet was empty now, Steve having extracted and inspected each item of its contents, and he now cast his eyes on the floorboards. Two boards appeared loose. He bent down and, using a screwdriver he retrieved from the drawer in the nightstand, he pried one board loose. A manila envelope lay underneath. It was the size of a long white envelope, with the same type of horizontal flat. Steve picked it up and opened the flap. Inside was one piece of paper. It was a letter, written in blue ball point ink on white lined paper. There was no letterhead, and the letter was addressed to Angelique. Alarm bells went off in Steve's head. Angelique was Jayna's code name when she was in the spy business. Judging by the dark color the ink, the letter was written recently. Steve sat back on his haunches and read the letter. Having been a spy himself, he could read through every letter of carefully-crafted code.

 **Angelique,**

 **There's still some unwanted inventory that we have get rid of. Make it a big sale with a large discount. We might also need to do some lay-offs in order to stay in business. Come see the manager tomorrow after closing time for your new schedule.**

 **Sincerely,**

 **Max, your supervisor**

Danno saw Steve reading the letter and looked at him.

"Anything important?" he asked.

Steve's eyes turned a frosty shade of ice. "Jayna was back in the spy business," he said, coldly. Steve rubbed his forehead in frustration. He handed the note to Danno as he went to stare out at the buildings and the busy streets down closed his eyes, trying to suppress the anger within him.

 **IV**

The blonde-haired woman lifted her head off the pillow and slowly sat up on the edge of the bed. She stretched her athletic arms and let out a yawn. Rising onto her feet, she stretched out her long legs and tucked her feet into silky white slippers. Her long, lithe, and toned body was still colored in the pale skin of her Russian ancestry, and rays of sun projecting from the window cast glowing streaks across her bare back and backside. The man who lay in the bed with her propped himself on one muscular elbow and stared at the nude vision as she wrapped herself in a silk robe that matched her slippers.

"I was enjoying that," he said with a thick Russian accent.

"There'll be time for that later," the blonde woman said, smugly. She turned her nose up in a sarcastically mocking manner and strode to the bathroom.

The man turned onto his back and looked at the ceiling. It was white with a single light fixture in the middle – nothing special, but a clever place to hide listening devices. There were none that he could see from where lay, but he had to get a closer look later. When dealing with a spy with Izabella Nikolaevna Reznikova – the tall, blonde in the white silk robe – one had to be careful, especially if he was her lover.

"Sasha," Izabella said – using the diminutive of his first name, Aleksander, "check to see if the paper is outside."

"All right," said Col. Aleksander Vasilyevich Krupin of Soviet Counterintelligence. He got out of the bed, put on a wrinkled maroon bathrobe, and went to the door. The morning newspaper sat on the ground in front, wrapped in a plastic bag. Krupin took it and closed the door. He pulled the paper out of the bag and set it out on the coffee table. At first, he didn't notice the headline, then he looked at it once more, holding the paper up to the sunlight to make sure what he read was correct,

In big block letters, the headline read, "FIVE-O WOMAN KILLED IN DRUG BUST AT HARBOR." Under it was a photo of Jayna Berringer, looking seriously to the side against a solid background. The article detailed how Jayna was in on a drug bust, where one of the dealers shot her on the deck of the _Marlitza_ , causing her to fall overboard. She managed to make it to the dock, where she was rushed to Kaukini Medical Center. Doctors tried to save her life, but she lost too much blood.

Krupin smiled maliciously, the smile not unnoticed by Izabella as she entered the living room from the kitchen, carrying a tray on which she placed a pot of coffee and a plate of pastries. In the direct light, the white silk wrapped so perfectly around her body as to give her an exact silhouette, identifying all her curves and leaving little to the imagination.

"What is making you smile?" she asked.

"The sight of you – and this." He showed the paper to her. Izabella's reaction was one of shock at first, then relief. She sniffled, almost as if she was tearing up, but it was really the impact of seeing what she was reading.

"Someone did the job for me," she said. "I can't say I'm not grateful, but there are many more to go. Berringer was just one drop in a big ocean."

"That means your job will be somewhat easier, Izabenka," Krupin laughed as he poured a cup of coffee and gave it to Izabella.

"There are still our agents in Hawaii," she said. "Even with Berringer dead, someone will take her place and come after us."

"You do have an upper hand," Krupin said. "I never thought it would be that easy to infiltrate the Special Division."

"Moscow was careful in creating your background," Izabella said. "It was easy, once they were able to get a hold of a dead American soldier who resembled you and simply have you switch identities." She took a pastry and cut it in half.

"Just remember," Krupin said, "I am only Aleksander Krupin behind closed doors." He picked up her hand and kissed it. Izabella blushed.

"With Berringer dead, what to do next?" he asked.

"It's one less obstacle," Izabella replied. "There is still our work at Pearl Harbor. Comrade Kovalykov has someone there selling us information. I want to make sure that information gets into our hands without any interference. There is also the matter of a defector."

"I haven't been able to find out who," Krupin said.

"We will find him, and then I will eliminate him or her."

 **V**

Lt. Comm. Adrian Grayle was not the kind of officer who would attract attention wherever he went. He was attractive enough but resembled many such young men in the military. He was slightly shorter than Lt. Callister's five-foot-eleven-inch frame. Grayle's hair was raven-colored, and his eyes were like the clear blue of the sky. He was diligent and always reliable, which is how Lt. Callister, Comm. Norwood, and Adm. Douglas came to depend on him so much.

It was on this day that they would need all the help they could get. Norwood stuck a smoldering cigar in his mouth, every bit the hard-hitting navy man stereotyped in film. Callister was his younger, gentler – yet still stern – second-in-command, and Maria took notes, dictation, typed letters, filed papers, made and took phone calls, and kept track of meetings for all of them.

During the course of this meeting, the conversation shifted to a security leak, indicated by the investigation of Russian intelligence by American agents in Moscow.

"The Reds have gotten hold of some our naval defense plans," Norwood said as he tapped some ashes into an ashtray. "The papers were exact copies of reports on file here"

"That means we have to tighten security in all our intelligence, but also find out who's pilfering them," Callister added. "There are eight people in this division, and we all had access to those files. No one's going to confess, but we're going to find out who took those papers and who their contacts are."

"Security has already been tightened so much, and we've done exhaustive background searches, and everyone's come up clean. I don't know what we're missing, but until we find it, we have to be extra careful about what we say and who we associate with," Douglas said, "as well as keeping a close watch on classified information from every assignment."

"We're going to bring in some outside help," Callister added. Maria continued typing.

Grayle listened attentively, then decided it was time to speak up. "Who's coming in?" he asked. _With a team of eight people_ , he thought, _it made sense that they wouldn't need outside help._

"Because we think we're not just dealing with one spy," Callister answered. "Whoever is taking information out of here is sharing it with a Russian contact. It might be someone else on this base or a civilian agent on the outside, maybe an entire spy ring."

"So we're bringing in Steve McGarrett from Hawaii Five-O," Douglas finished. "He was a naval intelligence agent and was stationed here for a while, and he's had extensive experience with smoking out Russian and Chinese spies. He worked with Norwood here during the Korean War."

Norwood nodded. "He'll be coming in sometime in the next few days, when he's up to it. One of his detectives was killed at Honolulu Harbor this morning, so we're giving him a few days. Give him all the cooperation you can. We have no time to lose." Norwood smoked out the remainder of the cigar and snubbed it into the ashtray.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 **I**

Frank Prather sipped some wine, then lit a fat, green Havana. He watched the smoke form rings in the air and lifted his glass to his dining companion, a Chinese girl with lips coated in red, the shade of poppies. Her long, straight black hair glinted in the dim lighting of the restaurant. They were in a private booth, away from the rest of the afternoon crowd, but Prather still maintained an air of caution.

"To us, Ching-Lan," Prather toasted his glass with hers. "So far, so good."

The girl lifted her glass to her lips and took a sip. "What's there to do now?" she asked.

A waiter arrived at the table and spoke nervously. "Mr. Prather, there is a phone call for you."

Prather looked at the Hawaiian boy – who appeared to be in his late teens – as though it were his fault the romantic interlude was interrupted. Prather set his glass down and followed the waiter to a room in the back. When the boy left him alone, Prather spoke into the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Prather," came the familiar, oriental voice. "I hope I'm not disturbing you." The voice at the other end spoke in a joyful, yet sardonic manner.

"Listen, Wo Fat," Prather began. "I didn't say you could call me any time you wanted."

"But since we are business partners, you should expect my communication at any time," the man called Wo Fat replied. Wo Fat was one of China's most powerful spies, and Steve McGarrett's biggest nemesis. Their history began only two years earlier, when Wo Fat was in charge of an operation where American Intelligence agents were kidnapped and kept submerged in a water tank, where they were deprogrammed in an effort to obtain intelligence information from them, with the end result being all their senses destroyed. Steve's best friend, Hennessey, was one of the agents Wo Fat upon whom Wo Fat experimented and killed. Since then, Steve vowed to bring down Wo Fat, but the Chinese agent remained elusive, always being one step ahead of Steve and managing to get away at the right moment, leaving behind a trail of bodies and misery.

"One of McGarrett's officers was killed during that raid. McGarrett will be even more determined to bring you in. You have to be extra careful, and taking my advice will be in your best interest."

"We're putting our necks out too far already," Prather said. "McGarrett is practically going to have this island under martial law until he finds out who killed that girl."

"She was getting too close," Wo Fat said. "Five-O was going to have you in the palm of their hands in no time. Miss Berringer was a thorn in our side for far too long. Her death was a blessing."

"It's one thorn pulled out and several more to go," Prather said.

"We'll get them all out, one by one," Wo Fat assured him. "Make sure you contact my assistant Xiaotong when you have finished this phase."

"Got it," Prather said. "Is that all?"

"For now," Wo Fat answered. "Good day." The click at the other end signified the call ended.

Prather put the receiver back on the cradle and returned to his charming companion. He took another puff of the cigarette. "That was your esteemed leader," Prather announced, not all amused. "He likes to check on us at every turn."

"Do as he says, and he won't have to check on you all the time," Ching-Lan explained, flashing her pearly teeth and flinging back a tuft of her hair.

 **II**

Steve McGarrett tried to get some paperwork done, but it was a futile effort. He was waiting for Che's results on the fingerprints from the _Marlitza_ , the analysis of the microfilm, and the statements from the men arrested in the drug raid. He got up, went to the balcony and stared out at the street. Cars drove by. People made their way to and from work on their lunch hours. Two children walked by, holding ice cream cones and laughing. Steve envied them. He had been their age once, laughed, played, and enjoyed life, never knowing what lay ahead. … Ironically, the only thing that remained unchanged was that he didn't know what lay ahead now, either.

"Steve?" Danno called out, interrupting the top cop's reverie.

Steve turned around. "Yes, Danno?" he asked.

"Philip Norton is here," Danno informed his boss.

"Send him in," Steve replied, tiredly. He lifted the folder out of which he had been working and tossed it onto a pile on the left side of his desk. Philip Norton entered and Danno left, closing the door behind him. Steve looked up at the tall, brown haired, blue-eyed and weathered-faced Norton. They had worked together on cases before, and Steve knew that Norton had been Jayna's mentor when she worked for Intelligence.

"Hello, Phil, have a seat," Steve said.

"Hello, Steve," came Norton's somber reply. "I'll make it brief. I'm sorry about Jayna. I know how much she meant to you."

Steve nodded. "Thank you. I guess I should also be offering condolences to you as well. You were Jayna's first boss." Steve picked up a paper cup filled with cold water and took a sip.

"Thank you just the same," Norton acknowledged, trying to sound diplomatic. "I wanted to know if there was anything I can do to help."

"Thanks, Phil, but we're still trying to figure out what we need to do ourselves," Steve declined the offer graciously, even managing a smile. "If I need help, I'll give you a call." Since Norton was Jayna's former boss, Steve made sure to familiarize himself with Norton's work. Having been in naval intelligence before joining Five-O, Steve had worked on many assignments with the Special Division, thought that was before Norton's tenure. However, there was something about Norton which troubled him. A sixth sense told Steve to watch out for him, that he was more than what he seemed on the surface. Steve tried to tell himself that it was just pure jealousy, since Jayna worked so closely with him before, but he had the feeling that it was something else. Being Jonathan Kaye's representative in Hawaii, Steve was not surprised to feel that way. He and Kaye had their sparring matches in the past.

"Jayna always said you were the best," Norton replied. "Maybe you won't need my help after all."

"I only hope I can live up to her words," Steve said.

Norton said. "Jonathan sends his condolences."

"Thanks, Phil. You can tell him I appreciate it." Steve managed a smile. A thought came to him, then he said, There is something you can tell me …"

"What?" Norton asked.

"Was Jayna still doing any intelligence work for you?" Steve asked bluntly.

Norton looked stunned. "No, of course not," he replied. "You know she agreed to quit when she joined Five-O."

"Coming from the chief of intelligence for the South Pacific, that is hardly believable," Steve replied. "I know what you and Jonathan are capable of. Spies have to be good actors."

"She wasn't on any assignment from us," Norton said. "That is the truth."

"Jayna is dead, Phil," Steve said, his voice rising and shaking. "I've been a wreck for the past six hours. Ballistics sent up the report on the bullet that killed her. It didn't come from any gun used by the men on the boat. It matched the type of bullets they used, but didn't match the grooves in any of their guns. I'm going to ask you once more, was she working for you?"

"The answer is still the same: No." Norton spoke emphatically, without a tinge of fear, looking Steve straight in the eye. Steve still didn't believe him.

 **III**

Maria Dotsenko unlocked the door to her apartment and stepped inside. She turned on the light switch and quickly locked the door behind her. Putting her purse on the table next to the door, she kicked off her shoes, launching them onto the rug with a soft thud, and headed into the bathroom. She wore little makeup due to the humidity, but was generous with sun block to protect her ivory skin. She washed the hours-old application of sun block off with a face scrub, blotted her face dry with a towel, and went into the kitchen. She turned on the radio and let the sound of music fill her ears as she started to chop up vegetables for salad and sautéed a chicken breast on the stove. The news anchor's voice broke her mood.

" _Detective Jayna Berringer of the Five-O state police unit was shot to death early this morning, during a drug raid at Honolulu Harbor. It is not known who fired the shot that killed her, but Five-O, HPD, and Harbor Patrol are still investigating …"_

Maria's face was expressionless but inside, she felt ill at ease. She flipped the chicken breast over in the frying pan and seasoned it with salt, pepper, and oregano, enjoying the sound it made as it sizzled.

 **IV**

Doc Bergman frowned at the autopsy report. He shook his head and looked up at Steve. "Dr. Nichols is a highly-respected pathologist, Steve. There's no way he would be involved in a cover-up, but the autopsy findings don't add up – even with the bullet injury, Jayna could not have lost that much blood by the time they got her to the hospital." Danno and Che Fong stood idly by, watching Steve process and ponder the report, waiting to see how he would dispute it.

"And the bullet that Nichols claims was taken out of her body did not come from any of the guns used in the shootout, though it was the same kind of bullet Prather's men used," Steve added.

"Why give forensics a bullet they can't use?" Doc Bergman asked.

"The only answer I can come up with is that there was a cover-up," Steve answered. "Dr. Nichols changed the bullet."

Doc Bergman raised an eyebrow at the suggestion, and asked, "What reason would he have?"

"Whatever the actual bullet was, it was something that would lead us away from the men on that boat to someone else – someone very powerful … who can buy or threaten a pathologist to do their bidding."

"Dr. Nichols also signed to release the body," Doc Bergman added. "It was right after you and Danny saw her in the morgue."

"They couldn't wait to get her out of there," Steve went on, his anguish showing through. "Then there was Dr. Clayton. He said Jayna died because of a loss of blood. She couldn't have lost that much blood in that short a time. She died a few minutes after they got her into the operating room.

"They had to let us see her, or else I would have gotten suspicious and raised hell right there and then. Something happened out there on that boat that goes deeper than a drug bust that went haywire."

Steve got up and paced the room, running his hand through his thick, dark brown hair, and clenching his teeth. When he was upset or confused, he could not sit still.

"If it is, it's big enough that two eminent doctors had to do things that put their professionalism into question to get this plot going," Doc Bergman replied. Doc took off his glasses. "You think it could be something on that grand a scale?" Espionage was not Doc's area of expertise, but he worked with Steve long enough to have been exposed to it, and not to rule it out.

"Big enough to kill," Steve replied. "I've got a local gangster dealing in drugs and arms with organized criminals in Russia and China, Russian and Chinese spies as go-betweens, Wo Fat in the mix somewhere, microfilm, Jayna dead by an unknown killer, and nothing concrete to link them all together."

"I guess we're clutching at straws," Doc said, sounding disappointed.

"Norton and Geller are not telling me everything," Steve said. "They know something about this ..." he clenched his fist, "… and I'm going to get them to talk – one way or the other. "

Jayna promised Steve when she joined Hawaii Five-O that her spy work with Intelligence – Special Division was over. Danno and Che said nothing at first, then they both realized that something had to be done to break the eerie silence of the room.

"Steve … there's got to be a reason …" Danno said. Che kept silent, not wanting to say anything more until Steve spoke.

"The explanation is that Jayna was on some assignment for Intelligence – without my knowledge or consent!" Steve said the last few words bitterly. "She promised when she joined Five-O that she wouldn't!"

"There has to be reason," Che finally piped.

"Or it might be something bigger," Steve countered. "I spent thirteen years in naval intelligence before I was hired to supervise Five-O, and I know what a letter like this means!" Steve slammed his fist in the tabletop. The anger was replaced by sorrow and anguish, this time on the verge of tears. Danno and Che could only stand by remorsefully and watch their boss come unraveled. Steve collected himself, wiped his eyes, and turned to them. "Jayna was back in the spy business, and Norton and Geller know why. It might have caused her death."

 **V**

The door to Norton's office was rarely open and on this day, keeping it shut did no good. Steve stormed in, raging like a bull, his blue eyes as dark as sapphires and his nostrils flaring while his lips stayed shut to avoid roaring – until he came face to face with Phil Norton.

Norton's secretary did the usual screaming of, "You can't go in there!" followed by more protests and excuses to Norton. Norton excused her and turned his attentions back to Steve. Norton seemed untroubled by Steve's sudden entrance, and it only made Steve angrier.

"What did you do to her?" he ordered.

"Do to whom?" Norton asked.

"Jayna! You know I'm talking about her!" Steve exclaimed.

"I didn't do anything to her, Steve. What is this all about?" Norton put down the pen he was writing with, staring at Steve astonishingly.

"I found this under the floorboards in Jayna's closet!" Steve held out the note. Norton took it and examined it.

"I don't know anything about this," he said. "This looks like it was addressed to a store clerk."

"IT'S A CODE, DAMN IT! YOU KNOW THAT!" Steve's screaming was so loud, the windows shook.

"It's no code of mine," Norton denied. "Plus, it's addressed to someone names Angelique."

"Angelique was Jayna's code name," Steve snapped back. "You know that, so stop denying it. You contacted her for an assignment, when I forbid her from working with Intelligence when she started to work with me." Steve put his hand on the desktop, right near a paperweight shaped like a starfish. He leaned over and glared at Norton like a basilisk.

"Steve, this is news to me," Norton declared. "I never hired Jayna for any assignment. I know how you felt about it." His act of innocence was not working on Steve.

The icy cold stare never left Steve's face. He looked at Norton with utter malice and contempt. "Why is it I don't believe you?" he said, mockingly. "You and Jonathan Kaye are the only ones who would have encouraged her to do this, and you two are the only ones around here who would know about it. Jayna would not take on an intelligence assignment without you two being involved, somehow."

"Whatever the case is, I'm not involved," Norton protested. "Jayna's dead, Steve, but we had nothing to do with it." It wasn't a convincing performance, Norton knew, but it was the best he could do at the moment.

"Check to see if your conscience will allow you to keep silent any further …" Steve was not wasting time with diplomacy. "I'm going to be checking up on this, and if I find out that Jayna was working on a case for you, you'll be hearing from me, and I'll create an even bigger stir than now."

Steve stormed out. Norton could almost swear he saw a trail of smoke following on the Steve's heels as he left. He had no doubt that Steve was going to make good on that threat. He pressed a button on the intercom.

"Susan?" he asked, speaking to his secretary.

"Yes?" came the secretary's reply.

"Get me Jonathan Kaye. Tell him it's of extreme importance."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 **I**

Dmitri Limonov coughed and took another sip of water. He looked out the window. The sounds of traffic, people laughing and talking, music playing from the nearby house, birds chirping, all seemed distant, like something out of a dream. If it not were for the work he was doing, they would not be a dream at all.

The Hawaiian weather was still an oddity for him, even after being here for ten years. He longed for a Russian winter, the snow-covered roads and valleys that sparkled when the sun shone over them, the calmness of the woods during the day, crackling of a fire in the hearth at night, and the sight of Russian moose stripping bark off trees. These were all memories now, and he could never relive them again like he did when he first experienced them in his youth. In nineteen fifty-five, he left Russia for California – on the pretense that he wanted to attend the university there –then settled in San Francisco, where he went to a local college and stayed to work in camera shop. He moved to Hawaii in nineteen sixty. Moscow found him, nonetheless, and he spied for Mother Russia whenever they asked – or rather, ordered.

The TV set was off. There was nothing on now except game shows and soap operas. In Russia, he had never seen the kind of consumerism displayed as he did in the commercials and even in the cash prizes on the game shows. The government ran all the factories and consumers had few options.

He sighed and went back to the couch, where an array of magazines ranging from _Time_ , _Life_ , and _Newsweek_ to _Look_ , _Holiday_ , and _Photoplay_ lay scattered. There were various books on the coffee table and in the bookshelf on the far end of the room. He was in the middle of a detective novel and had just started a historical novel, the bookmarks in both books sticking out to indicate his progress. The _Honolulu Advertiser_ and _Star Bulletin_ lay next to them, both with headlines about the death of Jayna Berringer. Limonov shook his head and laughed.

He lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke, allowing the smoke to settle into rings and float in the air. The cigarette burnt through further as he puffed on it and he went to kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Selecting a half of a ham sandwich leftover from lunch and a bottle of ginger ale, he went back to the living room and turned on the TV. It was another game show, where a housewife was guessing what was behind a magic door. Somehow, he felt just like her.

The spy business was always a guessing game, no matter how hard one tried to control their every move and know what their opponent was doing. Right now, he could only wait for the phone ring, for a voiced at the other end to tell him where to go, what to do, to whom he should or should not speak, and when he should do it all. At times, it annoyed him to be so dependent, not being able to do his job on his own terms, but this was the spy business, and no one did anything on their own terms, ever.

Like clockwork, he heard the unmistakable jingle of the telephone and he went to answer it. The voice at the other was the one he expected to hear, the one that had been giving him orders every day for the past ten years, and today would be no different.

"Limonov," Limonov said bluntly. The voice at the other end spoke.

"Yes … All right. I will make sure of it," Limonov replied. He heard a click at the other end to signify that the caller hung up. Limonov went downstairs to his camera shop. The clerk was showing a woman some cameras, and the other one was putting up a display for magnetic photo frames.

He went to a small room in the back of the shop, to a safe next to the filing cabinet. Limonov carefully turned the dial, and when he heard it click, he opened the door. He retrieved a small film tube and opened it. Inside was a strip of microfilm. Limonov held the film to the light then put it back in the tube. He closed the safe door, turning the dial a few times so no one would see the last number in the combination. He then went to the closet, and took his camera out from the top shelf. He opened the film chamber and put a fresh roll of film inside.

 **II**

The rising sun shone over Honolulu like a pink shadow, but the bright, cheery color did little to lift Steve's spirits. He paced nervously up and down in his office, running his fingers through his thick hair. He was waiting for Che Fong's lab report on the gold watch, and Danno's findings from Jayna's bank account. With impeccable timing, a knock resounded from the large oak door.

"Come in," Steve said. It was Kono. He entered, followed by Che.

"Nothing from Danny yet, Steve," Kono said, "but Che's finished examining da watch. We traced da serial number to a store called Crawford's Jewelry and Watches on Bishop Street."

"So who bought the watch?" Steve asked.

Kono hesitated, the uncertainty showing in his eyes. Steve sensed it instantly. "Kono … tell me," he urged sternly.

"Frank Prather," the big Hawaiian detective told his commanding officer.

Steve bit hard, gnashing his teeth, and turning his face away in pain. The watch belonged to one of Honolulu's most dangerous men, an organized crime boss, and it wound up in the bedroom of one of his own officers. There were only a few times when a man took off his watch – when he was bathing, when he was sleeping, and during sex. There was no reason for Prather to be doing any of those things in Jayna's apartment. He was trying to keep from jumping to conclusions, but the most commonly-pictured scenario was still formulating in his mind, and it was not one he wanted to consider.

"Go on," he said, weakly, trying to hide his fear.

"The fingerprints on the watch belong to Krause," that was Che's entry into the conversation, "and there is a second set of prints. We're running them through the national database as well through Interpol. We should get the results by the end of the day." Che sounded certain. "They don't fit any local criminals. We check them with HPD's database, and there are no local matches."

Krause or the person with the unidentified fingerprints might have gotten the watch off Prather and planted it in her bedroom for some reason. He pictured Prather in Jayna's bedroom, lusting for her, hoping for an intimate tryst, and removing the watch, hoping he could remove more than that. He felt so guilty for even thinking that Jayna would get involved with him in such a manner. Jayna would sooner kill Prather than touch him intimately. He knew full well where her affections lay, and they were miles from a lowlife like Prather. Jayna would never associate with a criminal in any form except to investigate and arrest him. However, there was still that thought at the back of Steve's mind that his top female detective might have been playing the seductress in order to get into Prather's confidence. He forced the thought out his mind for his imagination was surely getting carried away.

"Any other prints from her apartment?" McGarrett asked.

"Burt Akila's," Kono replied.

"Good work!" Steve said. "We're getting closer." Che nodded, looking somewhat triumphant, but also tired and still somewhat frustrated. He was as fond of Jayna as everyone else, and was also on edge, hoping that whatever physical evidence that turned up would prove, through some glimmer of hope, that would bring them closer to finding her killer.

Kono began cracking his knuckles. Steve could sense that there was something else his big Hawaiian cohort wanted to tell him. "What is it, Kono?" he asked.

"Word on da street is dat Krause was seen near Jayna's apartment building on Cherry Street, going in." Kono watched nervously for his boss's reaction. Steve's eyes narrowed before he cursed and closed them shut. Kono watched as his boss clenched his teeth and fists, then turned away from him. Steve then turned back after several seconds, which seemed like an eternity to Kono.

"Get Krause!" he exclaimed.

 **III**

The bus terminal was on the upper level of the international airport on Rodgers Boulevard. Inside the locker was a large, thick, manila envelope. Danno pulled it out and showed it to the patrolman. The envelope was sealed using a transparent packing tape. The patrolman went inside to get a pair of scissors. Once he found one, he came out and slowly started to cut through the tape. Danno pulled back the flap and took out the contents.

They were several eighty-by-ten, black-and-white glossy photos. Danno recognized the subjects in the pictures instantly. He saw Richard Prather, Louis Palani, and a Chinese man in a suit. The Chinese man was very familiar to Danno. In one photo, they were greeting each other, and in the others, they were talking. In a few photos, the Chinese man accepted a small package from Prather. The package was the size of a shoebox and wrapped in brown wrapping paper. The item was wrapped tightly, and tied with string. _Jackpot!_ Danno thought. These photos would put Richard Prather away for good. Illegal arms dealing, plus the other offenses for which they had evidence would lock him up in the state penitentiary for life. That he was paying off none other than Wo Fat, China's top spy – for that was who the older, Chinese man was – spelled doom for the gangster. Danno's elation was only temporary. His thoughts went back to Jayna. That she was not around to present this evidence herself made the moment bittersweet.

After looking at thirty or so such photos of Prather and Wo Fat, Danno pulled out another, with a different background. It was a bedroom with all simple but plush furnishings. He had never seen it before. The photo was also in black and white, but he recognized the two people in the room. The man was sitting on the bed and the woman was standing a few feet away – Burt Krause and Jayna Berringer. They were talking, serious expressions on both faces. The second photo also depicted the serious exchange. In the next ten photos, their demeanors were much different.

Krause lay on the bed, while Jayna lay on top of him, her face obscured from the camera. She straddled Krause in an erotic fashion. Her bare back was covered by long, straight, raven hair. Her body was slender and well-built, the arms thin, but strong, and the legs long and shapely. There were a dozen photos in this sequence, and in all Jayna was not facing the camera, but her image in the first photo was enough to tell it was her in these other ones.

Danno felt like a knife had gone through his heart. The patrolman also looked stunned. He hadn't expected to see anything like this when they opened the locker. In a daze, Danno handed him the photos. The patrolman shook his head.

There were ten photos in all, of the woman and man. He recognized them both – Jayna Berringer and Burt Krause. Danno clenched his fists tightly, trying to overcome his mixed emotions of shock, anger, and betrayal. He now knew what the watch under Jayna's bed meant, though he wished he hadn't. However, the second-in-command thought, Steve does not know about these photos. Danno wondered how long he could keep it that way.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 **I**

Miron Kovalykov took left the Soviet Consulate's building and quietly strolled down the street, stopping at a park where he sat on a bench and began to feed the ducks. With each piece of bread that he threw to them, they became hungrier and hungrier, gulping down each crumb like it was the last they would get. Kovalykov laughed at the foolishness they displayed. After all, ducks and all living things had been able to sustain themselves for millions of years. What made these ducks think all that would end now?

The man who walked up the path towards the bench was inconspicuous enough, but once he got closer, Kovalykov recognized him as Aleksander Krupin. Krupin sat casually next to the Consulate man, watching the ducks chow down on more bread crumbs. He was dressed in a suit and tie, doing nothing to disguise himself, and in a place with weather like Hawaii, trying to be inconspicuous made you more conspicuous. Krupin watched the ducks chomp down the bread crumbs, laughing at their ravenousness like Kovalykov did.

"If you feed them too much, they won't be able to take flight," Krupin said.

"They will burn off the calories running around the park," Kovalykov said with apathy. He threw some more crumbs down to a brown duck that flapped his turquoise-striped wings in delight and approval. "I thought Moscow said we were not to meet except under dire circumstances."

"This could become dire at any moment," Krupin replied. "One of our spies – Limonov – has gotten the latest report from our contact at Pearl. They are bringing outside help for their security problem – someone from the state police unit."

Kovalykov stopped throwing crumbs, but did not look directly at Krupin. "What do you know about this man?"

"His name is Steve McGarrett. He used to work in naval intelligence and knew Admiral Douglas and Commander Norwood from their time serving together during the Korean War," Krupin answered. "He has been running the state police unit since nineteen sixty-one. He's highly-decorated and highly respected. He was also friends with that American agent who was killed a few days ago – Jayna Berringer. She was one of his officers. Apparently, it was her day job." Krupin kicked away some breadcrumbs that accidentally fell near his feet towards the ducks.

"I know of McGarrett," Kovalykov replied. "He is very intelligent and very resourceful. Once he has you in his sights, he will not let you out of them – until he is certain you are guilty or innocent – and heaven help you if you are the former." He threw another chunk of bread at a very eager drake. The bird flapped his wings in gratitude as he scarfed it up.

"That means he will be trouble," Krupin replied, with a tinge of hurriedness. He looked over his shoulder, the feelings of always being watched never leaving. "What will we do about him?"

"If he does start to get too close to our operation, we will deal with him," Kovalykov assured Krupin. "We cannot act too fast, or else we will give ourselves away for no reason. If he does discover our agent in place, then we will eliminate McGarrett." Kovalykov spoke with a casualness that belied the sinister content of his statement. "You make sure to keep a low profile. If McGarrett does become a threat, you send word to Izabella. She will take care of the rest."

He leaned in closer, but still did not look at Krupin. Instead he continued his focus on the ducks. They were quacking louder now, demanding more crumbs, which he promptly threw.

"Just remember, if our agent at Pearl Harbor is found out, it won't be too long before they come after me," Krupin replied.

"Then we'll have a plan to get you out of that. Just do not act in haste," Kovalykov advised.

"I will get word to you again through regular channels next time. _Da svidahnia_." Krupin got up and walked as casually away as he had come. Kovalykov went back to feeding the ducks. The kept biting up every crumb and circled around, wanting more.

 **II**

As Danno showed the two men the photos, Chin nearly bit the mouthpiece off his pipe and Kono, who was usually able to maintain his composure, stared at them in shock.

"Dis is not our Jayna," Kono managed to say after a few minutes. "She'd never do such a thing."

"Then how do you explain these photos?" Danno said. He took a gulp of his ginger ale and coughed. "Why did Jayna have them in her safety deposit box to begin with? The envelope was addressed to Steve and me. Why would she want us to see them?" He rubbed the sides of his temples.

Chin took out his pipe and took a long smoke. "It could be that these are saying something else that isn't visible on the surface," he surmised. "What would Jayna gain from leaving some risqué photos of her for you and Steve to see when she's not around to explain them? It would obviously upset us and damage her reputation, not to mention that of Five-O." He gestured with the pipe. "Jayna's features are similar to those of a lot of girls on this island – slender, with olive skin and long black hair. Maybe one of them got together with a man to create these photos. Notice you can't see her face on the photos where she's lying on top of him." Chin spread the photos out on the table. "We've seen more bizarre things than this. Jayna was investigating Prather, and Krause was one of his men. That is Jayna in the first two photos, sitting on the bed – fully clothed – and talking to him, with her face in plain sight. She might have gone to Prather's house to question Krause. He might have called her there for some phony reason. Jayna spoke to him, they hid a camera in the room and took photos with it, and when Jayna left, they had a girl who resembled Jayna take those risqué photos with Krause. It's not too hard to do."

"If that's the case," Kono began, "who is the other girl in the pictures? And how did Jayna get her hands on them?"

"Louis Palani was giving Jayna information for our case against Prather," Danny said. "He might have found them and given them to her."

"That's something Palani never mentioned," Kono replied, dourly. "I read his Jayna's notes from him and his statements to the FBI."

"It'll be too risky to question Palani about this," Danno said. "He might say something to Steve later, and I'm not ready to tell Steve about these photos."

"He's going to know, sooner or later," Chin said. "When will you tell him?"

"When we're certain that the girl on top of Krause is Jayna or not," Danno answered. "I'm not going to have Steve get upset over something which might not even be real. We'll get Che to analyze the paper and images. If there are copies of these photos lying around, they'd better not wind up on Steve's doorstep."

 **III**

The hallways were silent as Maria Dotsenko walked briskly towards the conference room. As she pushed the heavy oak door open, she saw her boss, Lt. Callister, and his superiors, Commander Norwood and Admiral Douglas seated at the long, rectangular table. With them were Lt. Commander Grayle and Captain Purvis.

Sitting with them was a tall, handsome man with dark brown hair in a blue suit. A tuft of his hair curled over his forehead, looking like one of the waves she often saw at Waikiki. He had high cheekbones, a rectangular jaw, thin lips, and a slight cleft in his chin. His hands were brawny, rough, and covered with a fine hair. His eyes were the color of blue topaz. The term they used in English to describe him was ruggedly handsome. In Russian, the word for handsome – when describing a man – was _krah_ _see_ _viy_. This man, if any, certainly defined the term.

The man smiled at her and they all stood up when she entered. "Maria," Lt. Callister said, "I'd like you to meet Steve McGarrett of Hawaii Five-O." He referred to handsome, dark-haired man. "He will be here to help us with this operation. Steve, this is my secretary, Maria Dotsenko."

"Nice to meet you," Steve said, softly. He shook her hand.

"Nice to meet you, too," Maria replied. She could tell there was a warmth and friendliness about Steve. His firm handshake and smile told her that but she knew, from having read about him and events of the past week, that though Steve McGarrett smiled on the outside, he was unhappy inside. He was in mourning, after all.

Admiral Douglas, Commander Norwood, Lt. Callister, Captain Purvis, and Lt. Comm. Grayle were typical Navy men – dedicated, professional, and by the book. Callister, being the younger than Douglas and Norwood, seemed gentler and more outgoing, but he had yet to see the strife and struggle the other two officers had, as well Steve McGarrett. Douglas and Norwood earned their stripes in WWII and Korea, as Steve earned did, too. Purvis was an unassuming type who did what he was told without question, but was rough around the edges. He disliked being told how to do his job and resented anyone interfering. Steve could tell as much when he was first introduced to Purvis. The man barely managed a nod in Steve's direction. Grayle was also low key, but had more warmth in his reception of Steve than Purvis.

Norwood got right down to business, standing up and pointing to the area northeast of Hawaii in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

"There's a Russian nuclear submarine that exploded a few miles from a station near Hawaii in nineteen sixty-seven," Norwood said, tapping some cigar ashes into an ashtray. "They were armed with missiles aimed at Hawaii, in case tensions with Vietnam escalated into war."

"Our undersea detection system has found the submarine and salvage efforts are underway," Callister replied. "We've gotten the sub's missiles, cryptographic machine, and code books."

"We're trying to recover the entire sub itself," Norwood added, "but need to raise the funds first."

"The Russians made a futile search, but couldn't find it. Now, we know they'll want to know what we know and will do anything to get at that sub – if they can find out its location first," Douglas said.

"The Russians must have planted spies here a long time ago," Steve said. "There have been cases of spying going on here before."

"Yes, there were some spies here, pilfering information on our submarine and surface vessel locations, but that ring was quashed. We have some suspects in this case, but we need more proof," Callister said. "There are at least ten different people in the communications department alone that we suspect, and we've had them followed and gone thorough background checks on all of them but so far, nothing has turned up."

"That's why we called you in," Norwood said. "Given your history with Naval Intelligence and Hawaii Five-O, and you're the man for this job."

"Did you give me that strong a recommendation?" Steve asked, his tone turning light-hearted for the first time in days.

The naval officers laughed. "Partially, Steve," Norwood said. "There's another reason, one which will interest you greatly. Have you heard of the Ice Angel?"

"No, I've never heard of it," Steve replied.

"It is a she," Callister said. "She's a KGB spy."

"We don't know her true identity," Douglas said, pulling out a brown cigar and lighting it, "but she is one of the KGB's top spies. They only send her out when they need a job done fast and with as little mess as possible."

"She killed some American intelligence agents in Russia," Callister added. "Someone broke their cover. We suspect she has a partner somewhere in government – maybe national security or intelligence – but no one's been able to identify him or her, either."

"Special Division did let us in on a Russian spy network operating in Hawaii, Steve," Norwood said. "The Ice Angel might be here to work with them and make sure their covers aren't blown. She's deadly, to say the least. That ring includes spies at Pearl Harbor."

"The last time she was in this area, she was their courier," Callister explained. "She got the information on our ships' locations and satellite systems and passed them on to Moscow. They went back there in a diplomat's attaché case."

"And now she's back for Round Two?" Steve asked.

"Yes, and she might be in Hawaii at this very minute," Douglas said. "There's a lot more at stake. There's information on the U.S. Pacific Command's Maritime Strategy, missile defense systems, sources and methods we use to obtain intelligence, classified intelligence assessments of the U.S.S.R., and how we intercept communication signals from Russian ships."

"There are also files on American positions in Guam, Japan, and South Korea the Russians could sell to their allies, the Chinese and North Koreans," Norwood added. "They're going to try even harder to get their hands on these now."

"Do you have any suspects in mind – other than the Russians?" Steve asked.

"The Chinese could also be involved, but they might be working with the Russians," Callister added. "They have the same allies."

"Are these files under any special lock and key?" Steve asked. He rested his elbow on the table and propped his cheek on his fist.

"Right now we have double the security," Douglas answered, tapping a chunk of cigar ash into an ashtray. "We need to triple it. Are you in?"

Steve paused, thinking, but it was not something to ponder. They were going to get him involved, whether he wanted to be or not. "All right," he said. "I'm in."

 **IV**

"The photos were printed on ordinary photo paper, that you can buy in any drug store or supermarket," Che told Danno.

Danno nodded, tiredly. The last twenty-four hours had taken a toll on all of them, and now he was only starting to feel its effects. "Steve hasn't been down here, has he?" he asked. Che shook his head.

"Thankfully, not while we were examining these," he answered. "He may come down at some point. I'll make sure these are safely hidden." He gathered the photos and put them back into their respective plastic sleeves. "There is one more thing, though … we did see some kind of strange markings on the back of one photo – the ones of Wo Fat and Prather. They were done in lemon juice, and had to be held up to the light in order to make out what they were."

"What are these markings?" asked Danno. He pointed to a set of characters under it. They were in Russian:

 **ледяной ангел**

"It looks Russian. I can get someone at the university to translate it," Che said.

Danno examined the photo on whose back Russian words were written. On the surface, it looked like the others, but there was a slight difference – a tall blonde woman who stood off the side, behind Wo Fat, watching the proceedings. She was only in that one photo. However, judging by the angle at which the photo was taken, it was clear the photographer wanted to get her in the shot. The camera was positioned to focus in on her and Wo Fat was at the right side of the photo. The woman leaned against a pile of crates, her arms folded across one another protectively, her hands clasping at their opposite elbows. Either she was cold and trying to trap in heat, or she was nervous. Either way, Danno could not blame the woman for her discomfort, being near two slimy characters such as Wo Fat and Prather.

Her hair was pulled back, with some strands sticking out around her long, angular face. Her eyes had this faraway look which was not in synch with the uneasiness her body displayed. Her fingers were long, accentuated by long, almond-shaped fingernails. Judging by the number of crates that stood alongside her, the woman was very tall, maybe six feet or a little taller. Danno could easily picture her walking down a runway or doing a screen test in Hollywood, but her association with Wo Fat and Prather denoted a different, more dangerous occupation.

"Jayna wants us to see her." Danno showed the photo to Che, pointing out the woman.

Danno stared at the woman's face again. Despite the poker face, there was something that told him that face was hiding something, something sinister that could only lead them further down a path of danger.

 **V**

The sight was familiar, and Steve wished he could be anywhere but back at Honolulu Harbor. Forensics had completed gathering evidence from Jayna's murder, but the chalk outline of where her body lay and the yellow police tape cordoning off the area were still there, and Steve felt a great sense of sadness and anguish. Her killer was still running loose, and who knows if he planned to kill again.

However, Comm. Norwood picked a different part of the docks on which to talk to Steve. Norwood waited till there was calmness in the air, the only noise coming from seagulls calling to each other in the sky, before he spoke.

"I asked you to come here because what I have to tell you is for your ears only, Steve," Norwood began.

"What is it, Bert?" Steve asked. When he and Norwood were alone, they referred to each other by first name. Steve kicked a pebble as we walked. The pebble skittered away a few yards down, coming to a stop just before a fishing boat, its grime and barnacles testifying to its many hours at sea.

"There's more about the Ice Angel," Norwood replied. "I've been talking to Intelligence's Special Division. They were investigating the Russian spy ring at the civilian level, so they shared what they knew. The Ice Angel is a woman named Izabella Reznikova. She's one of the KGB's best agents, and has a body count to prove it.

"She killed some of our agents in the U.S.S.R., and we're still trying to figure out how she caught up with them. There's not just a leak in naval intelligence, Steve. There's one in domestic intelligence as well. Phil Norton won't admit it to you, but he said they were investigating it. Just like with us, they've come to a dead end. Whoever is leaking information from Pearl and the Special Division, they've got coverage so thick we can't even cut through it with a knife."

The horn of a passing boat honked, but Steve and Norwood were accustomed to the sound, so they didn't look to see from where it came. They just kept walking.

"Not even a fingerprint?" Steve asked. "What about surveillance of everyone who had access to this information?"

"Whenwe did that, whoever was the spy somehow caught on and laid low," Norwood replied. "We didn't see any suspicious activity on anyone's part, which further proves there's a leak. Only Douglas and I knew about the surveillance. We got some NI agents from outside Pearl to do the tailing. The spy knew and kept out of anything illegal or suspicious. Special Division also did the same to their people, and someone must have had the office bugged, because only Norton and Jonathan Kaye talked about keeping a watch on their agents, yet no one gave themselves away."

"There's got to be someone watching out for them, shadowing them to make sure none of us find out about them," Steve suggested. "What more do you know about Izabella Reznikova?"

"She's sort of a messenger, hatchet woman, surveillance keeper, and several other jobs rolled into one. She does what has to be done to keep the mission running along smoothly. If someone has to be eliminated, they tell her and the job is done – usually neat and clean, but sometimes messy, if she has to torture information out of someone," Norwood explained.

"Do you know where she hides out?" Steve asked, "Or at least a guess?"

"She could be anywhere," Norwood answered. "She won't stay in one place too long, but she is in Hawaii now. Intelligence spotted her. They couldn't miss her. She's a tall blonde, over six feet tall. She has to lay low not only because of her job, but because she'd stick out here like a sore thumb and people would remember her."

"Then I'll have to hope she slips up and does come out in the daytime," Steve quipped. The seagulls had stopped chirping and flew away. A fishing boat sailed out to sea, its sail billowing into a giant white balloon. Steve longed to be on the sea again, free from all the problems and cares on land. That would have to wait.

The men's conversation wasn't completely ignored. Dmitri Limonov stood on the top deck of another boat several yards away, his camera equipped with a zoom-in lens that put them in close-up as he clicked away, trying to get as many shots as he could.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 **I**

Jenny stopped typing and stared at the clock. It was eight p.m. It had been two hours since Kono left to meet Danny and Chin. Doc Bergman had been in to see Steve and told him to rest for a while. Doc knew Steve well enough to know that urging him to call it a day was no use. The typing was a futile effort. Jenny only managed to get one paragraph finished. She got up and went into Steve's office. As she expected, her boss was not lying on the couch, but seated at his desk going through some paperwork. Jenny sighed and wandered over to him.

"Steve," she said gently, "Doc told you to take it easy."

Steve wasn't listening. He continued to fervently fill out each form, and put them into different piles. Each pile was almost one foot high.

"Steve …?" Jenny said again, trying to get his attention. After what seemed like an eternity, her boss looked up.

"Jenny? You're still here? It's late. You can go home now." He put his head down and went back to work.

"I'm not leaving, not until you do." Jenny brought out the authoritarian in her with those last words. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, waiting for Steve's response.

"You know I can't leave now," Steve said, gravely. He lifted his head up slowly and tiredly. He knew he couldn't convince Jenny, and if she felt he was not physically fit to carry on the rest of the day, she was right.

"Working yourself to the point of exhaustion isn't going to help you," his secretary said.

"I just can't take a break now," Steve replied.

"Jayna would want you to look after your health." Jenny went over and rubbed Steve's shoulders. "You're no good to her – or us – if you work yourself to death."

His soft spot for Jenny took over, and Steve put down his pen. "Alright, you win." He rubbed at his temples and yawned. "It's just that I feel useless." The frustration was filtering into his voice. "There are so many things that don't make sense. I still don't why she was there … and Geller … he's involved in this, somehow, and if he is, so is Phil Norton!" Steve pounded the desk. Jenny continued massaging his shoulders, and her boss started to calm down a little more.

"I'm sorry, honey. I just can't think straight anymore." He ran his fingers through his thick dark brown hair. Jenny squeezed his shoulders, and then gently let them loose. Steve got up, went to a filing cabinet, and pulled out the file on Frank Prather. Jenny shrugged and sat down. She was never going to get him to slow down now.

"He's been in Honolulu for twenty years," Steve said, reading from the file. "Whatever a typical gangster has done, he's done it: Gambling, prostitution, drug dealing, swindling, suspected in several murders and kidnappings, but no one was brave enough to testify. Louis Palani was planted by the FBI to work undercover as one of Prather's men, then he came to Five-O with information on Prather. Jayna was his point of contact." Steve walked towards the couch were Jenny had gone to sit. He continued to read through the papers, spreading them out on the coffee table.

Steve's anger was returning. Jenny didn't know what to say or do at that moment. She knew all-too-well how Steve felt about Jayna. There was no romance between them, but they had something deeper than a mentor-protégé relationship. Jayna could be one of the coldest people on Earth, Jenny remembered, especially when dealing with criminals, but her compassionate side was very evident, when consoling victims or when one of her colleagues was in danger, especially Steve. Jenny could see when Jayna looked at Steve, those cold brown eyes lit up with enough warmth to set a forest on fire. Jenny was certain, there was only one man who had Jayna Berringer's love, and that was Steve McGarrett.

She was an independent sort, not a feminist shaking off any association with men, but an individual trying to take care of herself and not depend on anyone. She was not close to her family, and from what Jayna told them of her childhood, was not quick to make new friends. Only when she entered high school did she start to open up more and make friends, then again when she went to college, but she retreated into her shell once more when she started working for Intelligence. It was one of the reasons Steve thought it best for her to join Five-O. Jonathan Kaye and Philip Norton could be kind when they wanted to be, but their way of doing business didn't always sit well with Steve.

"You're thinking of that watch?" Jenny asked.

Steve didn't answer. He looked affectionately at his secretary. "Yes," he replied, his steel-blue eyes now darkening to resemble the ocean.

"Someone put it there, Steve." Jenny spoke softly.

"I know I shouldn't think that way but … Burt Krause! The man's scum of the earth! And he was in Jayna's apartment … her bedroom …" Steve was on the verge of another fit of rage. Jenny had never seen him that way before. She was about to get up to comfort him, but Steve held back the tears and resumed pacing back and forth. "Maybe someone planted it there like you say, but who, and why?"

"Someone who wanted us to think that Jayna wasn't loyal," Jenny replied. "What would you expect from Frank Prather?"

"Nothing but that," Steve said. "Jenny, I'm going to pay a visit to the big man himself, tomorrow, and when I'm through with him, he's going to regret ever coming to Hawaii." There was anger and malice on Steve's face but then, it gave way to an impish smile, and Jenny saw her boss's old self returning.

 **II**

The tall, blonde-haired woman strode casually down the street, keeping close watch out of the corner of her eye at everyone who passed. She stood one head taller than most of the tallest men who passed her by, and was the object of their intrigued and beguiled stares. However, the woman simply ignored them as she went on her way. Her tweed skirt swayed effortlessly as her long legs stepped one in front of the other, her low heels tapping a clickety-clack on the concrete sidewalk.

She walked past Iolani Palace, stopping to look at the ornate building. She adjusted her sunglasses and watched the entrance. A young, handsome man with thick dark hair in a blue suit stepped out of the building and walked down the wide stone steps. She took the photos Limonov took yesterday out of her purse. There was the same man, coming out of his apartment building, getting into a black Park Lane, and driving away.

 _Steve McGarrett, chief of Hawaii Five-O,_ Izabella Reznikova recited to herself. _I'll be ready and waiting._

 **III**

The Soviet consulate was closing for the day, and Miron Kovalykov strolled out the gate towards the end of the street. He carried an umbrella, a newspaper, and a briefcase, and he watched as the sun started to turn orange. The Hawaiian nightlife was a stark contrast to the nightlife in Moscow. The Russians liked to party and have a good time, but it was not as festive and frivolous. He sometimes cursed Russia for the austere and serious mindset she ingrained in her citizens, which often caused more harm than good. He committed himself totally to the Soviet cause and tried to avoid any Western influences, but it was impossible to do all the time. He got onto the bus and rode the rest of the way to his house, and got off at the bus stop one block away.

The front gate was unlocked and he strode in. His wife was not home to meet him, and he didn't mind. He opened the front door and locked it as he went inside. Leaving the umbrella, briefcase, and newspaper in the foyer, he looked to see if the servants were about. They had taken their cue and made themselves scarce. He walked up the stairs to the bedroom.

There was still some sunlight coming in, but the sun was setting fast. Kovalykov turned on the lights and looked at the bed. A beautiful Chinese girl sat on the satin sheets, dressed in a filmy pink negligee, her hair pulled back and pinned to the back of her head, and her lips coated in a clear gloss. She smelled of violets and orchid, the scents dancing around her in a cavalcade for his sense of smell. The negligee did little to hide the figure underneath, and Kovalykov was already aroused.

"Ching-Lan, you know how to make me happy," he said, as he took off his clothes.

Ching-Lan kept her poker face. "It's a gift," she said. Kovalykov grabbed her shoulders and kissed her.

 **IV**

When Danno got to his apartment door at the end of the day, he was ready to collapse before he got inside. His mail was sticking out of the mail box and he managed to grab it all in one handful. He went inside and tossed the pile onto the living room table. Magazines, bills, and a small, check-size envelope landed onto the tabletop. It was the check-size envelope that got his attention first. There was no return address, it was not postmarked, and it was sealed with a simple little piece of tape. His name and address were handwritten in blue ballpoint ink in all capitals.

Peeling back the tape, Danno opened the flap and pulled out a small note. It was typed on plain white cardstock, the size of an index card. It read:

Ching-Lan Shen

369 Hobron Lane, Apt. 3H

Honolulu

He picked up the phone and called HPD, then asked for Ken Nishimura. "Hello, Ken? This is Danny. I need you to check out something for me …"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 **I**

"We had a professor from the University of Honolulu decipher them. The lettering on the photos is from the Russian alphabet," Che Fong told Danno. He turned on the projector. On the screen, illuminated in large lettering, were the words, " _ **ледяной ангел**_ " and then the English translation, "Ice Angel" underneath.

"It's a lead," Danno said, "but who, or what, is an Ice Angel?"

"It could be a code name for a spy, or an object, like a special type of gun or other weapon," Che deduced.

"It has some connection to one of her past cases," Chin said. "It wouldn't be in that locker otherwise."

The other men nodded, but they knew it would not be an easy task to figure out. It would involve going into Jayna's personnel files from that time – files which are still classified. Whatever way they did it, they could not let Steve find out just yet.

 **II**

It was Lt. Ken Nishimura of HPD who took on the arduous task of interrogating Burt Krause. Krause was the picture of insolence. He laughed, smirked, and gave the most arrogant and crass answers. It was as though he wanted to go to jail.

"Look, Detective," the rough-faced, dirty blonde-haired man said, "Jayna and I got close. I'm a man and she's a woman, after all." He flashed a row of yellow teeth. From his to his toes, Burt Krause defined the world of which he was a part – filthy, corrupt, amoral, formidable, and ugly. His face was covered in a five o'clock shadow, his eyes were bloodshot, and he reeked of alcohol. He wore a wrinkled brown T-shirt with loose threads hanging from the sleeves, dirty jeans, and matching dingy sneakers. He looked like he had been rolling in soil.

Steve McGarrett tried to keep his anger in check, but he could not stand it anymore. Krause was going a good job of making it look like his watch got into Jayna's drawer after the most explicit of circumstances, but Steve trusted Jayna too much to believe it.

"She was good, real good," Krause replied. "I couldn't keep my hands off her!" He started to go into graphic detail, making Steve even more uncomfortable, and Krause knew it. Steve pursed his lips and clenched his fists, trying to suppress his rage. He wanted to clock Krause to the point of unconsciousness.

Steve jumped out of his seat and lunged at him.

"You dirty, sick bastard!" Steve screamed. "She would never touch you!"

Nishimura quickly stepped in between the two men, keeping Steve from ripping Krause apart and ruining his own name and career. Krause was still defiant. He touched McGarrett's weak spot and was going to ride it for all it was worth.

"But she did!" he laughed. "And she did much more. Much, much more!" His eyes glowed with malice.

Nishimura played the stoic one up till now, but he shed that façade fast. "Krause, you have made yourself the prime suspect in Miss Berringer's murder."

"I have an airtight alibi," Krause snapped. He folded his arms and sneered.

"Frank Prather, let me guess?" Nishimura shot back. "How long will Prather back you up? He'll sooner get rid of you to risk you spilling everything you know."

Krause tried to keep his insolent face intact, but Steve could see signs of fear showing through. "I never gave you any information on him," he retorted.

"No, but we have lots of evidence now, and can get more, and knowing you were in our custody this whole time, it won't take long for Prather to think you sang to us like a canary and have his boys on the inside take you out," Steve said hotly, his blue eyes turned to ice in a deathly stare.

For the first time since they started questioning him, Burt Krause started to tremble, losing all the impertinence of before.

"Start talking, if you want to save your life," Nishimura said.

They struck a chord in him somewhere, for Krause started talking. "Jayna Berringer and I were involved, and she let me into her apartment. That's where I left the watch. She also came to my place several times. Sex for information. That's what it was!"

Steve threw up his hands, roared in anger, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut as he left Nishimura to keep working on Krause. Despite scaring him momentarily with the threat of retaliation from Prather, Krause was still not changing his story. Then Danno came around the corner.

"Krause isn't letting up?" he asked, though it was more like a statement.

"No, and he's still telling the same story, even when we told him Prather might think he snitched to us about his operation and have him killed." Steve pounded his fist on the cinderblock wall. "Their game is to discredit Jayna, make it look like she got in exchange for sex from Krause. All that information came from Palani, but if Krause sticks to his story, there's no telling what a grand jury will think."

"Palani was an undercover agent from the FBI," Danno told his boss. "His handler Kendricks is coming over from Washington." Danno spoke trepidaciously, knowing how Steve felt about Harold Kendricks. The last thing he needed now was to deal with him. The startling revelation that Palani was working undercover all along, and it was the FBI that allowed Jayna to walk into a death trap made him even angrier.

"I can't stand any more of this, Danno," Steve said. "Can you deal with Kendricks? He can be a handful when he's wired up, and he's got a grudge against me for solving a case he was investigating a few years back. He thinks I outsmarted him."

"Did you?" Danno asked.

"Only if you consider actually weighing all the evidence and investigating every angle outsmarting him," Steve replied, cracking a small smile.

"He's that inept?" asked Danno.

"Not inept, just bullheaded," Steve said.

Danno asked, "Are you going to see Prather now?"

"After we're done with Krause." Steve clenched his fist tightly and wrapped his other hand around it.

"Maybe I should come with you," Danno said. "You might not be able to control yourself if Prather doesn't cooperate."

"That's probably a good idea," Steve replied, putting his hand on his partner's shoulder. "I'll need to you keep me from strangling him."

 **III**

The fat, green Cuban roll of tobacco was freshly lit, the tip scorching from the flame. Frank Prather let a loud puff of smoke escape from his mouth. He leaned back in his chair, letting the fumes permeate the room. The buzz from the intercom interrupted his reverie.

"What is it, Sheila?" he asked his secretary.

"Steve McGarrett is here to see you," a woman's voice responded.

"Send him in," the gangster grumbled. He put the cigar down in the ashtray and leaned forward, anticipating the chief of police's entrance. Prather was not to be disappointed. Steve McGarrett stormed into the room like a hurricane decimating a serene beach. He pounded the ground as he made his way inside, stopping right in front of Prather's desk. Danno followed close behind, careful not to get in his boss's way, but ready to step in if Steve got too rough.

Steve's blue eyes were icebergs, staring coldly at the man whom he believed to be responsible for Jayna's death. If it were possible to kill someone with a single look, Frank Prather would be lying dead on the floor. "You know why I'm here, Prather," he said, icily.

"What are you talking about?" Prather asked, incredulously. The fat Cuban blew out more smoke from the ashtray.

"Stop playing games with me," Steve said, the chill making his voice frostier.

"I'm not playing games, McGarrett." Prather spoke with a hint of sincerity, maintaining a casual nature.

"You know who killed Jayna Berringer!" Steve persisted, his words wracked with pain.

Prather shot back cold glances at Steve with angry gray eyes. "Look, McGarrett, I'm not sorry that she disappeared. I won't lie about that, but I had nothing to do with it. If I had, I wouldn't have her shot into Honolulu Harbor."

"Then what would you have done?" Steve demanded, getting up and leaning over Prather's desk. "Dump her into Muana Loa?"

Prather snatched up the cigar and took a few more puffs contemptuously. "You're treading on thin ice, McGarrett. I could sue you for harassment!"

"Dot it, and then explain this!" Steve took out the plastic evidence bag containing the gold watch. He held it out for Prather to see. Prather could not stop his jaw from dropping open. He recognized the watch instantly.

"Where did you get that from?" he asked in a tone of indifference, as he tried to mask the surprise that had earlier shown on his features.

"This was found in Jayna Berringer's apartment," Steve shot back, pointing to the watch, "It belongs to your man Krause, and I want to know how it got there." Steve was careful not to specifically say that the watch was found in a drawer. He wanted to see how much Prather would let slip.

"I don't know how it got there, McGarrett, and believe me, neither I nor any of my men have been anywhere near your girl's house."

"There's no doubt it's yours. We traced the serial number to Crawford's, and they confirmed that you bought it there." Steve picked up the plastic bag and waved it in Prather's face.

"I'm telling you, McGarrett, I don't know anything about how that watch got there. Why don't you ask Krause?" Prather's voice was rising in both volume and pitch. Steve could see in the other man's eyes that there was fear. He put the bag back into his pocket. He was on fire inside, and was not ready to cool off anytime soon.

"Krause denies everything, just like you, but he can't deny that this watch is his." Steve shook the bag in Prather's face. "We've got an arrest warrant for him, and unless you want to join him in jail, you'll tell me what you know!"

"I have nothing to tell you," Prather stated. His eyes glared at the top cop with rage. "You have a lot of nerve making such accusations. Whatever Krause does on his own time, I'm not responsible for it!"

"Are you turning a blind eye when he allegedly associates with a detective?" Steve asked. "Since when are you and your people so accommodating to the police?"

Prather did not answer. He clenched his fists, then slammed one on the desk top, causing to reverberate like an earthquake struck.

"Get out of here!" he screamed.

Steve would not be moved. His icy eyes continued their cold stare into Prather's. "You're in this deep, Prather. I'd like to see how you get out of it," Steve warned. "There's nothing you can hide from me. When the time is right, we'll come back here with search warrants and find what we're looking for. … Until then, expect sleepless nights." He didn't wait for Prather's reply but turned on his heel and stormed out.

Prather sat motionless, the smoke from the cigar accumulating around him in a foggy mist.

 **IV**

"It was a good thing you had me check her out before you knocked on her door," Ken Nishimura told Danno. "She's one of Prather's girls – a photographer and model, and she used to be dancer. She works nights as a hostess at The Midnight Orchid." Nishimura handed Danno a mug shot of her. The girl had delicate oriental features, a small and serene mouth, and enchanting almond eyes. "This was a modeling shot she did a while back. Her name was our database because nightclub employees have to be fingerprinted. Any reason you're interested in her?"

Danno decided to lay his cards on the table. He told Nishimura about the typed card and the business card. Nishimura was not surprised. "It seems everyone is connected to Prather somehow," he replied. "Are you going to bring her in?"

"If I do that, she'll get suspicious and might disappear later. She was careful enough not to get caught when Prather was arrested. She didn't figure in any of Jayna or Palani's evidence. She obviously kept her nose clean and will keep doing it." Danno tapped a pen against the desk blotter.

"We've got to get her fast, before she disappears," Nishimura replied. "If she works for Prather, she may not have a long shelf life."

 **V**

They were met at the front door by a young, thin, and fashionable Chinese girl with straight black hair that fell past her shoulders and lips coated in the most vivid shade of red. She smelled of sandalwood and jasmine, and she spoke with a trace of that delicate refinement and Eastern thought that was common in women from her part of the world.

"Can I help you?" Ching-Lan Shen asked.

"Yes, are you Ching-Lan Shen?" Danno asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"I'm Det. Danny Williams of Five-O and this is Lt. Nishimura of HPD. We need to ask you some questions pertaining to the murder of Det. Jayna Berringer and investigation of Frank Prather. Are you employed by Prather?"

"Yes, I work at his nightclub," Ching-Lan said, sounding innocent and confused but, Danno and Nishimura had a feeling that it was all an act.

"Can we come in?" Nishimura asked.

"Yes, please do." Ching-Lan led them into a spacious living room. Indeed, the apartment looked too posh for a girl on a nightclub hostess's salary. It was a two-bedroom apartment with a balcony offering a picturesque view of Waikiki Beach. The living room walls and were in a matching creamy off-white and the furnishings were either upholstered in imperial red or constructed of black cherry wood and bamboo. Reminders of Shen's Chinese heritage were everywhere. There were jade and wood figurines of Buddha and Confucius on the mantel and in an oak cabinet, and a tapestry of a gold dragon covered the couch. Vases imitated in the blue-and-white pattern of the Ming dynasty sat on coffee and end tables with glass tabletops. The floor was the same crimson that matched Ching-Lan's lipstick.

They sat on a cream leather couch that made slippery noises when they sat. In front of them was one of those glass-topped coffee tables with blue and white china ashtray sitting on it. Next to it was a gold cigarette lighter and box of Tareyton cigarettes.

Ching-Lan sat across from them on an armchair upholstered in cream velour with a cherry wood frame. She crossed her legs and placed a red-manicured hand over on knee. She tried to look cool and relaxed, but Danno could see that this girl was hiding her nervousness only slightly well. Working for Prather at one end and being involved in a police investigation would do little for one's nerves.

"What do you need to know?" she asked. She picked up the Tareyton box and took out a cigarette. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Go ahead," Danno replied. She took a cigarette out of the box and lit it with the gold lighter. Danno noticed Ching-Lan's hands trembling as she held the flame to the cigarette tip and when she put the lighter back on the table, and her hand shaking as she took the cigarette out of her mouth.

Danno remembered the photo where the inside of the girl's left arm was visible – a left arm that had the tattoo of a Chinese symbol on it. He saw the same symbol when he got a glimpse of Ching-Lan's left sleeve falling down slightly when she was lighting her cigarette. Ching-Lan's moment of confidence dissipated, and she looked at the two men incredulously. That cinched it for Danno.

"I noticed you have a tattoo on your arm," he said. "Is that a Chinese symbol?"

Ching-Lan glanced at her left arm causally and shrugged. "Yes, it the Chinese character for wealth."

"I can see you live up to it," Danno gestured to their surroundings.

"I work hard and save my money," Ching-Lan replied.

 _Work hard at what?_ Danno thought.

"Is there something important you wish to know?" she asked, starting to sound impatient.

"Yes," Nishimura took over the line of questioning. "Is that you in these pictures? The girl in these photos has similar features to you."

"A lot of girls do," Ching-Lan said, continuing the innocence act. "I'm not the only one. What crime was actually committed?"

None yet, they thought, but there had to be a reason why these photos were in an airport bus locker and why Jayna had the key to it, and why this woman photographed herself in a tryst with Krause right after he had a meeting with Jayna. So far, she had not committed any crime, but they were sure she was involved in one and may commit another.

"Where were you on the morning of May fourteenth?" Danno asked.

"I was in bed," Ching-Lan replied. "I don't go to work until five in the evening.

"Were you alone?" Danno asked, suggestively.

"Yes," came the girl's blunt reply, "but once I come home, I don't go anywhere until it's time to go to work. I work at The Midnight Orchid from five pm to two am. I get home at three, and am in bed by four, and I am fast asleep by five. Even an explosion could not wake me up."

Nishimura wrote all this down while Danno studied the girl. She could change emotions at the drop of a hat, and was a bad liar and a bad actress.

"Thank you, Miss Shen. That will be all for now," Danno said as he rose, "but please don't make any plans to go out of town. We'll need to question you again.

"All right, gentleman." Ching-Lan stood up and let out some more smoke rings. I'll walk you to the door.

Outside the building, Danno whispered to Nishimura. "She's the girl – the one who was in those photos. I know it."

"But yet we can't bring her in," Nishimura complained. "We need more than your gut instinct."

"Give her time. She'll slip up somehow, and then we can pounce." Danno raised his hand and clenched his fist tightly.

 **VI**

The Buddhist priests' monotone chanting created a haunting aural backdrop to the stout, bald Chinese man's afternoon prayers. He rose, walked casually from the room, and out into a courtyard, where a younger, more slender man with a thick mop of black hair stood waiting. The older man motioned to the younger man to come over and walk with him. They left the chamber with its haunting sounds of religious devotion and walked along a path laden with various tropical flowers whose scents filled their noses to the point of distraction.

"Xiaotong, what have you got to tell me?" the first man asked, addressing the younger man.

"McGarrett is going after Prather, Master Fat," Xiaotong said, referring to the first man. "Prather is afraid. McGarrett always gets his way."

"There is always the first time when he will not," the stout man replied. "I know McGarrett and how he operates. We will always be right behind him, and he will not know it." Wo Fat, the master Chinese spy, laughed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 **I**

"Steve, there's still nothing that proves Prather had Jayna killed, and we can only go after him for his operations in Hawaii," said John Manicote, Oahu County's district attorney. "I can give you a search warrant for Krause's apartment, but until you come up with physical proof or a witness who can prove Prather or one of his men shot Jayna, then we can't do anything about it – as far as Prather is concerned."

The diminutive DA pointed a finger at the chief of Five-O as he spoke, while Steve sighed and walked to the window. He looked at out at the vast cityscape, then closed his eyes tightly as if to shut it all away. Manicote didn't speak, allowing his old friend time to cool off.

Steve opened his eyes and turned back around. "Of course, Prather will cover his tracks, as he won't want any of his men to rat on him. He might have had the gunman killed and got rid of the weapon," he said.

"Then where's his body?" Manicote asked. "No bodies have been found that resemble any of his known associates or hired guns, and none of our informants have heard anything about any of Prather's men going missing. There's still a chance we can get him, but we have to dig."

"And those informants talk up a storm when they get drunk," Steve griped, "yet the one time we wish they would talk, they don't." He clenched his fist. "The facts are that someone shot Jayna from anywhere around Honolulu Harbor. After that, everything draws blank. Palani doesn't know why she was there. He swore he didn't ask to meet her there, and Kendricks and Sullivan back him up."

Steve's blood boiled when he thought of how disgruntled Kendricks had been over Steve solving that case of his and the hostility he still showed towards Steve over it.

"Did Jayna know Palani was from the FBI?" Manicote asked.

"If she did, she didn't say," Steve answered. "I wouldn't blame her for doing so. The less they knew about Palani's real identity, the better." Steve slumped into a red leather armchair. "Even then, there are no tall buildings or mountains around the harbor, so it would be impossible for the shooter to hide somewhere higher up and fire at her, unless they did so from one of the skyscrapers half a mile down, but that would require expert precision. He had to be on one of those other boats."

"Some witnesses said they heard gunshots coming from one of the other ships, called the _Fisher King_ ," Manicote replied. "HPD said there was no one aboard. The boat is registered to a couple that lives in Honolulu, but they have alibis for that morning. No one saw anyone strange hanging around the wharf, either near the _Marlitza_ or the _Fisher King,_ but we know that means nothing."

"Then we search the _Fisher King_ ," Steve said. "Can you get a search warrant for that?"

Manicote picked up the phone. "I'm on it," he said. After Manicote made the call, he turned to Steve, actually sizing him up for the first time since this recent turn of events started. He could tell that Steve was miserable, anguished, tired, and beleaguered, but he could only act within the confines of his position. Secretly, Manicote wanted to choke Frank Prather like a chicken. He got up, walked over to Steve, and put his hand on his shoulder.

"I know you're upset, Steve," Manicote said gently. "I miss her, too, but she's not coming back. All we can do is find her killers, and do so within the boundaries of the law. You and I both took an oath to protect and serve the people of this state – you by enforcing the law, and me by preserving it. If we do anything to step outside the lines – even for a second – Prather's clever defense lawyers will pick up on it and our whole case will be thrown out on a technicality. Then we'll have to start all over – if we can. Jayna doesn't deserve that."

Steve knew his friend was trying to comfort him, but nothing would erase the terrible fact that his dearest friend was dead and he would never hear her voice or see her smile. He turned to Manicote, his face tightened, his jaw firm.

"I know you mean well, John," he said, "but until justice is served I'm never going to stop thinking of ways to get back at Prather." He clenched his fist again.

"Just make sure you only think of them, and not act on them," Manicote warned.

 **II**

The _Fisher King_ 's owner, a Japanese man named Mr. Owada, was obstinate at first, then calmed down and allowed Steve, Danno, Che Fong, and some assorted forensic technicians and a photographer onto his boat. He reiterated that he was on not on board the day Jayna was shot, and the detectives thought he was believable. His and his wife's alibis checked out, as they were told before, and neither had a criminal record or any known connection to Prather, organized crime in general, or any ties to the Soviet Union. The owner stood around unassumingly while Steve and Danno looked around. The window from where the shot was fired faced the _Marlitza_ and gave the shooter a perfect view to aim and fire. It was also the perfect spot to find a fingerprint. Che put on a pair of latex gloves, took out a jar of fingerprinting powder, and applied some to the rectangular sill. Several prints showed up – all of which could have belonged to the owners and their various guests, let alone the shooter. He brushed away the excess powder with a makeup brush, carefully collecting it into an empty jar so as not to leave a mess and incur the owner's wrath.

"Anything?" Danno asked.

"Some prints," Che said as the photographer came up and snapped some photos of the fingerprints.

"Has anyone been on your boat in the past week?" Steve asked Mr. Owada, who shook his head in response.

"No one has been here the whole time," he responded. "My wife and I have been in town all week. We never let anyone on here when we're not here."

"This is at least three or four sets of prints," Che replied. "Once I get these back to the lab, I'll know more." He gestured to the ground. "There's also a shoeprint from a work boot." He pointed to the cabin floor.

A technician photographed it while another gathered the debris from the print. Whoever wore it had stepped through dirt or sand before coming here. The owner said he didn't own a pair of work boots, his wife did not, and they did not have any guests aboard this ship prior to the past week who wore them, nor did they have any work done on the boat that would require men in workboots to be on it.

"Not that I know of," he said.

"Do you ever come to check on the boat during the week?" Steve asked.

"When I have the time," Owada replied. "The last time I came was last Saturday. I didn't see anything unusual then, either."

"Did anyone approach you and ask you about the boat or the dock?" Danno asked.

Owada thought for a moment, then answered, "I did see some men by the _Marlitza_ , talking. It stood out to me because I had never seen them before."

"Can you describe them?" Steve asked.

"Yes, they were _haoles_ , like you two. One had brown hair, and the other had light brown hair. They wore suits like you …" Owada kept trying to remember.

"Did you hear their conversation?" Steve asked.

"All I caught was, 'Make sure everything is ready. We won't get this chance again.' Then they left."

The wheels were in motion in Steve's head."Mr. Owada, can identify these men from a photo, if we showed you some, or work with our sketch artist to draw pictures of them?" he asked.

"I'll try," Mr. Owada replied.

 **III**

Lt. Callister introduced Steve to the rest of the intelligence division at Pearl Harbor. In other words, they were the rest of the suspects. There was Lt. Purvis, a young, dark-haired man in his early thirties; Lt. Comm. Grayle, whose fair hair and blue eyes made him resemble an older version of Lt. Callister; and Chief Petty Officer Richards, a slender girl with honey blonde hair, gray-blue eyes, and a serene and serious nature about her. The others who rounded out the staff were Chief Petty Officer First Class Alvarez and Petty Officer Second Class Davis. The last two were men.

Maria Dotsenko was the efficient secretary who seemed to adore her boss, though not in the sisterly way Jenny Sherman did for Steve. He knew from the way her eyes lit up when she spoke to him, even when she did so in a straightforward manner without any playfulness. Callister's gentle smiles towards her completed Steve's conclusion, and it only reminded him of what he missed with Jayna Berringer.

"Every piece of information that comes through here is checked by at least three people, typed in triplicate, and one copy is placed in a sealed envelope labeled confidential and is sent to Commander Norwood," Callister said. "The other two copies are kept here." He pointed to some filing cabinets.

"Is there any way this information could get out of here without anyone actually taking the papers off base?" Steve asked, fiddling with his tie clip.

"They'd have to have the key to the filing cabinets and a spy camera," CPO Richards said. "Only Grayle and I have the other keys." She held up her key.

"Do you keep that on you at all times?" Steve asked.

"No, it stays in my desk drawer," Richards replied. "It doesn't leave this base." The coldness of her ice blue eyes seemed real.

"The same with mine," Callister added, "though sometimes, I leave it with Maria, but she also keeps it locked in her desk drawer. After it's used, either she locks it in her drawer or I do."

"But you can't be certain that neither of these keys ever left this office?" Steve asked, but said it more like a statement.

"We leave the keys right here in our desk drawers," Callister said. "All personnel are searched when they leave here, and that includes handbags and pockets," Callister said with assurance. "No one could have smuggled those keys out of here."

"But it is possible to make an impression of a key into a piece of clay or soap, and then have a duplicate made," Steve said. He wasn't entirely sure he could trust Callister but, in the absence of evidence to incriminate him, those feelings would remain just that. Everyone was under suspicion in this case, and Steve had a greater reason to keep his guard up now than before.

 **IV**

Frank Prather smoked his way through three cigarettes by the time Steve McGarrett showed up in the interrogation room. The smell of nicotine drifted from the green plastic ashtray that sat in the middle of the metal table. If ever there could be an image to go along with the word "contempt," it would be the look on the gangster's face at the moment the chief of Five-O entered.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," Steve said, sardonically. He straddled the chair facing Prather, shooting sharp daggers at him with his blue eyes, now resembling the cold blue of an iceberg, all while his lips formed a faint smile. Steve took out a photo of Jayna and slid it across to Prather. He stared at it, and Steve could see a glint of recognition in the other man's face.

"You know who she is," the chief of Five-O said, icily, "and you know what happened to her." He was trying not to get emotional and allow for Prather to get the upper hand. If your opponent sees that you are weak, he can wreak untold damage on your psyche with only his words, and tell a few lies in the process to make him look stronger.

"I don't know anything about her!" Prather snapped, shoving back the photo.

That was the last straw for Steve. He picked up Jayna's photo and threw it back at Prather. "Look at it!" he roared. "That's the face of the woman who was investigating you, and now she's dead!"

Steve knew he was hiding something. He had to keep at him, keep him talking, intimidate and antagonize him as much as possible till he broke. He lowered his tone and bent his head down to where his eyes were level with Prather's.

"We know about the illegal gambling halls, the prostitution, the narcotics rings," Steve sneered. "Shall I show you the photos of your victims who overdosed?"

Prather was starting to shiver, but he hid it well. Steve had him. Steve leaned in, waiting for Prather's next retort. He remained silent, but was tinged with nervousness. He was doing his best to maintain control, and not give himself away. The chief of Five-O was enjoying this, he could see. Prather wasn't going to give him any more pleasure.

"I'm not saying anything more until I speak to my lawyer," Prather said emphatically.

"I wondered when you'd get around to that," Steve said, smiling cunningly. "You're going to need a good lawyer - a team of them," he rose, "because we have a truckload of evidence against you, and they'll have to work miracles to get you around it." Steve walked out.

"You just watch, McGarrett," Prather said with a scowl. He got up and pointed his finger in a threatening manner at Steve. "You'll wish you had never hauled me in here."

"You'd better save that wish for yourself," Steve snapped. "When I'm through with you, you're going to wish that you never set foot in Hawaii."

 **V**

She lit the incense and waited for the spicy sent of sandalwood to drift through the room before she got up. Her red silk robe swished about her smooth legs as she wandered into the bedroom. Ching-Lan was careful about who she let into her apartment. Given the people with whom she currently spent her time, she had to keep her guard up. Given how closely she worked with Prather, she knew a lot about his work and could be a target for the police or the FBI, if they knew about her. She was careful to assume the façade of the unsuspecting nightclub hostess when strangers were around.

She went into the bathroom, where a tub full of steaming water awaited her. Ching-Lan dropped the red silk robe, allowing it to gather at her feet like a crimson pond, and stepped gingerly into the tub. As she sat down and felt the soothing relief of the warm water to permeate her skin, she heard the footsteps draw near. She was not afraid but casually sat up and turned to see Burt Krause in her doorway, grinning cunningly.

"So McGarrett's boys were here?" he asked, stepping into the bathroom. "What did they want?"

Ching-Lan extended a golden leg out from under the water and applied lathery soap to it. "They asked where I was the morning Jayna was killed. I said I was in bed, which was the truth," she giggled as she kicked some lather out with her foot.

"I hope you were alone in bed," Krause said, leaning over the tub and kissing her.

"At four in the morning after I just came off a full shift, I wouldn't even allow you in here!" Ching-Lan laughed again and kicked up some more suds. Her tone then turned serious. "You said on the phone that something happened."

"The grand jury indicted Frank," Krause answered. "Five counts. He's at police headquarters now. I just called Krieger." Krause was referring to Gerald Krieger, Prather's lawyer and one of the top criminal defense lawyers in Hawaii.

"Poor Frank," she said, flicking some more lather in the air. "Will he have to spend the night in jail?" Ching-Lan was actually serious this time. Though she shared her body with Krause, she shared her loyalty with Prather.

"No, Krieger will probably arrange bail for him," Krause replied. "He told me to proceed as planned. Make sure the boys at the club know what to do."

"I'll make sure," Ching-Lan replied. She looked at Krause mischievously "Care to join me?" She stuck her out of the sudsy water and flung some more lather off her manicured toenails into the air.

Krause started to unbutton his shirt, his mouth forming a large grin. "I thought you'd never ask!"

 **VI**

"I can't emphasize enough the importance of keeping all this under our hats," Norton told Geller. "If McGarrett gets even a hint that we're involved, he'll come charging back in here, and nothing will stop him from ripping us apart."

The severity of the issue and the grim image of what Steve McGarrett could do when he found out the truth about Jayna's involvement in this mission made Geller shudder. Steve would never hear the truth from him – if he could help it.

"Make sure to keep out of Steve's sight," Norton advised. "Now that he's found that note I wrote to Jayna, he'll have us on his radar, but he won't be able to act on anything if we don't give him the opportunity."

"That won't be enough," Geller warned. "He could read through the code in that letter and there's no way he'd believe it was anything else."

"But he can't do anything based on suspicions," Norton countered. "McGarrett can't do anything more than point fingers at us. Make it very clear to the agents working on this case to keep a low profile. If McGarrett gets too close, you do what you have to do to throw him off track."

Geller wasn't sure if he should say what he was thinking, but he said it anyway. "Does that include … incapacitating him?"

"If you have to," Norton said, "but don't kill him. I'm going to have another agent work with you. He worked undercover in Russia for seven years, speaks Russian, and knows some of the ins and outs of their intelligence setup." He pressed a buzzer on the intercom. "Send him in," he said to his secretary.

"Yes, sir," she replied. The door opened, and the second agent entered.

"Thank you for coming in," Norton said. "I'm going to have you work with Geller to break this Russian spy ring. You spent time in Russia and speak the language, so you'll be a big help on this one. Is that okay, Pat?"

"Sure, it is," Geller replied. He extended his hand to the other agent. "Welcome aboard, Krupin."

"Thank you, Geller," Aleksander Krupin replied as he shook Geller's hand. "I'm glad to be of assistance."

 **VII**

Wo Fat lit a bundle of incense and placed it inside a small, ornate vase, sitting at the foot of the large gold statue of Buddha. He knelt in front and prayed silently, while the two Buddhist priests chanted softly behind. He could hear the footsteps of Xiaotong approach. The master Chinese spy got up and turned to meet his assistant.

Xiaotong was in his early twenties, having just completed spy training in Beijing, and was sent to work with Wo Fat a few months earlier. He stood only five feet eight inches, and his hair was covered in a mop of straight black hair that fell over his forehead and ears. He looked more like an office boy than a spy, but his abilities outweighed his appearance.

"Master Fat, the DA has indicted Frank Prather," Xiaotong said, trying to hide the shakiness in his voice. "He must give himself up by tomorrow afternoon."

Wo Fat always managed to remain calm, even in the direst of situations. He put his arm around his second-in-command and ushered him out of the room, leaving the monks to continue their prayers. Their deep chanting could still be heard after Wo Fat closed the doors to the temple room behind them.

"Do you have that package?" the older spy asked.

"Yes," his assistant answered. "Mr. Prather's man gave it to me. It's ready and addressed."

"Good," Wo Fat said as they walked down the hallway to his office. "We make our next move after McGarrett makes his." They stepped into a large room, covered in dark wooden paneling and decorated in art reflecting China's history, culture, and philosophy, complete with dragons and statuettes of Chinese gods. On a table sat a chess board, the figures standing six inches tall. One side of figures was made of ivory, the other of black jade. One white pawn had already been moved forward a few places. Wo Fat picked up a jade pawn and moved it over the ivory one, indicating that that latter had been captured. Wo Fat placed the ivory pawn on the table by the side of the black jade figures. Then he picked up the jade king.

"When McGarrett takes out one of our knights …" he removed a jade knight from the board and put it on the side, "we'll take out one of his." He moved a jade knight several squares forward, to where it stood face-to-face with the ivory pawn. He then picked up the ivory king, "and then we will take him out – permanently." He smiled impishly as he twirled the tall ivory figure around, its pristine, smooth, cream-colored surface glinting in the light.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

 **I**

Harold Kendricks hadn't changed one bit. The wavy dark hair had turned slightly gray – especially around the temples – since Steve McGarrett had last seen him. The oval face was raw, its chin pointed and locked in hidden tension. He looked tired and weather-beaten, but it was not as a result of the flight from DC. His memories of his clash with Steve a few years earlier came back to haunt him, for when he met face-to-face with the FBI man, they picked up where they left off.

"I won't say it's great to see you again, Steve, but I will offer my condolences. Losing a partner is unpleasant, no matter what." Kendricks held out his hand, which Steve accepted. That was as close as he'll get in congeniality from Kendricks.

"Has he talked?" Bob Sullivan, Kendricks' partner, asked. Sullivan was the more affable of the two, and tried to keep the peace between them the last time they worked together. He got along better with Steve and understood him.

"Only to laugh in our faces," Steve replied. "He insists Jayna was in on everything, even having an affair with him." He spoke the last few words with bitterness, though he knew they were not true.

The mention of such an act made Sullivan shutter, while Kendricks didn't bat an eyelid. Kendricks put his briefcase on the long conference table and took out some papers.

"This is a report on Palani's findings." He handed a stapled packet to Steve. "His real name is Douglas Kahue. He's an FBI agent who has been working undercover as part of Prather's organization for the past year. Jayna never knew his real identity, only that he was undercover and was supposed to give her information."

Steve's eyes became fiery. _Was Jayna working with the FBI?_ "Jayna was investigating Prather through Five-O," he said, stunned. "There was no mention of the FBI."

"Jayna didn't know that the FBI was involved," Kendricks stated, "only that Palani was an undercover man. She was told he was an informant for HPD so she would cooperate."

It was a small relief to Steve, but still a small one. It was bad enough that Jayna might have been working for Intelligence again without his knowledge, and working for the FBI as well – especially with Kendricks – would be too much for him to accept. He still had to figure out Intelligence's role in all this. He didn't believe Norton and Geller one bit and he was not trusting Kendricks and Sullivan at this point, either.

Jayna was working for Five-O in conjunction with HPD, and accepting from a man she was told was working undercover for HPD, and the FBI was monitoring her actions, and Intelligence was involved somehow. It was getting more complicated, and Steve was dreading the next twist – if there was going to be another one.

"We were told Palani was a career criminal trying to go straight," Steve said. "We didn't know he was working for the FBI till he told Officer Williams."

"He had to tip his hat then," Sullivan said, "He couldn't be charged with a murder he didn't commit."

Steve sighed. "I understand. I couldn't have that on my conscience, either." He tapped the eraser end of his pencil against the tabletop. "Just what did he find?"

"Kahue found out that Prather either ordered or was personally involved in the murders of some rival mobsters and their employees. There were also details about drug shipments - their pickup and drop-off points, prostitution rings, illegal gambling sites. He gave us names, dates, locations … everything important. All of that information he also gave to Jayna."

"Why share your information with us?" Steve asked, suspiciously, eying Kendricks. He never knew him to be that cooperative.

"Because we knew you were also on Prather's trail," Kendricks responded, "and if we moved in on your territory, we would never hear the end of it. You want Prather for the crimes he's committed on a state level. There's been a violation on the federal level – some of those killings he's orchestrated involved shipping in hit men from the mainland, so there's crossing state lines to commit murder, and something else –"

Kendricks did not finish. Steve was impatient. "What else?" he asked.

Kendricks hesitated, looking uneasy. He looked to Sullivan. "It's better that you tell him," Kendricks told his partner. Sullivan was not that eager, either. He exhaled deeply and then spoke.

"Prather's been involved in some international drug and gun sales. These operations have put him in contact with intelligence agents from Russia and China …" Sullivan stopped. He looked at Steve, then continued, "… one of those agents is Wo Fat."

The mention of Steve's nemesis startled him, but made his blood boil. _First, the FBI, now Russian and Chinese mobsters, Russian agents, and Wo Fat?_ It would have been understandable for Steve to become unhinged at that moment, but he remained calm and collected. He clenched his fists again, his knuckles turning white.

"How did you find out?" he asked.

"We gathered that information during another investigation," Sullivan replied. "The Russian and Chinese agents represented organized crime groups in their respective countries. They acted as the go-betweens. The Russian agents were part of a local spy ring. Wo Fat had some other agents representing him, but he was in charge."

"The Russian spies have a female agent who has been seen a few times, though still rarely, and she's allegedly their main contact with Moscow," Kendricks added.

"Do you know her name?" Steve asked.

"No, but she's a very tall blonde – over six feet tall. She'd be very conspicuous here and so far, she's been careful. We only got this photo of her …" Sullivan handed Steve a grainy black and white shot of a statuesque woman with flaxen hair pulled back, sunglasses covering her eyes, wearing a dark long-sleeved shirt and dark pants, walking away from the _Marlitza_. Indeed, the woman was gargantuan in terms of height, but slender in frame, with an angular face whose contours were still evident, even in what little light shone on it. If she was that conspicuous yet managed to remain inconspicuous, then she was very good at what she did – too good. Steve thought of the Ice Angel. Could this be her?

"Have you heard the name Ice Angel?" Steve asked.

The name was met with silence by both FBI men. Sullivan looked to Kendricks, started to open his mouth, then stopped. Kendricks took the lead.

"It's a name we've heard mentioned in connection with this woman. It's her code name, from what we've been told," he replied.

"And you don't know anything else about her?" Steve asked.

Kendricks and Sullivan both said, "No."

"It can't be this one woman at the center of it all," Steve countered. "She must have other spies in higher places – out of sight but in place to take any action necessary to help her do her job …"

"They're out there," Kendricks told her. "We just don't know who they are."

 **II**

Aleksander Krupin was uncommonly handsome, with a lantern jaw, wavy dark hair, and enchanting brown eyes. His skin was a darker hue than the fairer Izabella's, and the two seemed to complement each other perfectly. Izabella's affection for her partner – not only in espionage but in love – was as fierce as her dedication to her work. Krupin caught stares from several women as he walked towards the Soviet Consulate, followed by the Maxim Vorontsov, Miron Kovalykov's assistant. Vorontsov was in his late twenties with thick auburn hair and bespectacled brown eyes. He was slender and boyish, standing five feet eight inches tall. They walked at a casual pace, keeping a distance of a few feet between them, till Krupin opened the doors of a modest café and entered. Kovalykov entered a few minutes later, and took a seat next to Krupin at a long, plush red couch that served as the seat for anyone sitting at the three tables that stood in front. The consulate man ordered coffee with cream and sugar, while Krupin ordered tea with lemon.

"The state police is investigating at Pearl Harbor," Vorontsov told him in Russian. "Their chief officer is getting suspicious."

"We can't eliminate him outright. If he has to be stopped, we will do so when the time comes," Krupin said, squeezing a lemon wedge over his tea. "Right now, McGarrett is only suspicious, and that is his nature – and part of his job. Moscow is waiting on the information from here, and other information our agents obtained. They cannot wait too long." Krupin set down the lemon wedge on the saucer. "Has anyone tried to stop you from delivering the latest microfilm?"

Vorontsov took another sip of coffee, nearly cursing it for being too hot. He set the cup down and put his fingers to his closed lips to quell the burn. When the pain subsided, he answered, "No, Limonov didn't report anything out of the ordinary."

"We cannot act in haste here, either. We're not here to leave a body trail. That is the best way for them to catch us." Krupin took a few more sips of tea. The waitress walked by, coffee pot in hand, her white heeled shoes clacking across the tiled floor as she went straight to a nearby table to fill a customer's cup.

Vorontsov pushed his thick-rimmed glassed back up the bridge of his nose. "Then what do we do? We can't just sit around and go about our business when, at any moment, the state police will come after us."

"We must find out for certain first," Krupin advised. "I have a job for you." Krupin signaled to the waitress to refill his cup. The waitress, a young Polynesian girl in a yellow mini dress and white apron, poured the reddish black liquid into the cup and walked away with a smile, which Krupin returned. When she was out of earshot, he turned back to Vorontsov. "I want you find out what you can on Steve McGarrett. Check his background, anyone and anything connected to him. Even we cannot kill him. He must have an Achilles' heel that we can penetrate to keep him in line." Krupin made a gesture of a clenched fist, shaking with rage, which he just as easily and gently loosened.

Vorontsov could only hide his fear, for he knew what Krupin and his kind were capable of when it came to disposing of an enemy.

 **III**

Evening came to Honolulu with the setting sun casting an orange glow over the land. The skyline looked like a navy blue silhouette against the coral sky. There was still enough light that Steve McGarrett could get through the traffic to the apartment complex where Maria Dotsenko lived. The car ride consisted of minimal conversation, with Steve discerning that Maria was either shy, reserved, or not willing to open up to a man she barely knew so quickly, which was a trait he did not find in too many women. Maria was not uncomfortable around the top cop. She was comfortable enough to ask him for a ride home, explaining that her car was being repaired, and she the bus stop was not safe at that hour. She now looked more preoccupied, staring out the window, deep in thought. Then, she broke the silence.

"Mr. McGarrett, please come in. I hope you don't find it intrusive," she said. "We'll be working together. I think it only right that we get to know each other."

"Only if you call me Steve," Steve replied.

The girl ran a hand through her flaxen hair, smoothing out the loose strands, and gently tugged at the ribbon that held it all back in a ponytail. It was one of those ribbons stitched together to look like it was tied in a bow and fastened to an elastic ring, through which the hair was slipped to form a ponytail. Maria adjusted it, and continued to smooth down some more stray hairs that fell over her forehead. She looked down, weary and languid.

"You must think it rude of me to keep silent, but I had something on my mind …" she said.

"Oh, what is it?" asked Steve.

"I am worried that I might be responsible for the security leak," she answered. "I didn't keep an eye on that key, though I never gave it to anyone, and I am a Russian. It look longer for me to get security clearance to work at Pearl Harbor than it would for other job applicants."

Steve didn't respond, wanting to see where she would go with her narrative.

"I was born in Russia and came here with my family when I was child. We settled in Santa Monica. When I finished high school, I moved to Hawaii. I was enchanted by these islands ever since I saw them in movies as a child …" She reached for her purse and took out a package of cigarettes. "May I smoke?"

"Go right ahead," Steve replied. He was against smoking, but knowing Maria was doing it to calm herself, he didn't want to stop her. He wanted her to keep talking. She wouldn't talk if she was nervous. She took out a cigarette, placed it between her pink-lipstick-coated lips, and took a gold cigarette lighter out of her purse. Flicking it on with a manicured nail that matched her lipstick, she held the flame to the cigarette and exhaled a few puffs. Rings of smoke danced around the room, permeating it with that stench of nicotine Steve abhorred.

They stopped at a red light, and then Steve paid close attention to that lighter. It was pure gold, at least eighteen karat. It was rectangular, and stood up vertically when placed on a surface. The texture was ribbed, and the initials MGD were engraved on the top. _Maria Grigorievna Dotsenka_. That would be her real name in Russia. He had seen that type of lighter before – as merchandise in Crawford's jewelry store, where Burt Krause's watch came from. Krause got his money from Prather, which is how he could afford to shop at such a high-end store, but where did Maria, on a civilian navy secretary's salary, get such an item? Perhaps a gift from a wealthy admirer? Steve made a mental note to check on that later.

"As a child, I was teased for being Russian," Maria went on. "Kids asked if I was a Commie and if my parents were spies." She spoke with anger now, the timidity of before completely gone. "I was going to show them – show them I was better than all of them. I wanted to be an actress – or a dancer. I used to take ballet lessons when I was younger. I came here to attend the university and learn theater and dance. "I dance with a theater group when there is a show going on and they have work for me, but it's not too frequent.

"I worked as a secretary to pay my tuition and fees and found I was quite good at it. I got the job at Pearl Harbor on a recommendation from my old boss." She tapped some ashes into the car's ashtray. "Lt. Callister was very nice to me. I appreciate all he has done, but I always feel like no one trusts me … because of who I am …"

The red light turned to green, and they drove on through minimal traffic.

Steve's eyes softened as he looked at the girl. Was it an act for sympathy, to win his confidence and make him think he can trust her, or was she really in need of a sympathetic ear? He knew better than to fall for her so fast. He decided to comfort her, yet keep her at arms' length.

"It's wrong to judge someone just because of where they came from," Steve told her. "I still get a lot of suspicious stares because I'm a mainlander."

"That's another problem I have to contend with," Maria replied. "It seems that we both made the same mistake of being born outside of Hawaii!" she laughed.

Despite the levity, Steve could sense real anguish in her voice. She wasn't saying anything to get him to reveal information, but winning his confidence was important as well – if she is who he thinks she is. She puffed away on the cigarette. Steve decided to meet her halfway.

"Maria, there are all kinds of people in this world, from different countries, different cultures, and different ways of life. That's what makes this world so great," he said. "Our differences are not meant to be hidden away as a source of shame, but to be celebrated as part of what makes us unique. Those kids who made fun of you were worthless, ignorant, and immature, and not deserving of your friendship. They couldn't see that you were a human being, with value, deserving to be loved, with every right to exist as they do."

"I wish others knew that," Maria said, dourly.

They pulled into the parking lot of Maria's apartment complex. It was a three-story white stucco building that sprawled out in different directions at several right angles. Maria and Steve got out of the car and he walked her towards the stairs. The night air was crisp and cool – a rarity in Hawaii – and Steve hoped it would last. They walked to the staircase that led to Maria's floor, and then a pop sound erupted from somewhere overhead. Steve's instincts told him that it wasn't a car backfiring. The second pop confirmed it.

Glass shattered. Steve dove on top of Maria and the two of them landed on the grass, as more shots rang out. One bullet hit a potted plant, sending ceramic shards and soil everywhere. Maria covered her head with her hands and screamed. Steve rolled off of her, pulled out his gun and called out to Maria to stay where she was.

"You'll get killed!" she shouted. The gunfire kept erupting.

Steve returned fire in the direction of the building across the street. He couldn't see the gunman, but they had a large arsenal. More than six bullets were fired at them so far, Steve counted, so it wasn't a handgun. They were dealing with a rifle or a machine gun – which meant more bullets coming their way. Steve's handgun would be no match. He already fired two bullets and the invisible gunman sent three more his way. One shattered the headlights of the car next to Maria's, the second went through her windshield, and the third destroyed another potted plant. Steve took one more shot, knowing it was futile.

Another set of shots were fired, from inside the building, but no bullets came their way this time. The sound was different … deeper, louder, crackling like thunder. There was the first, then the second, then the third. In a few minutes, it was all over. It was all calm and still now. There were no more shots, and the few people who had been outside at that moment slowly came out from where they were hiding. A man and woman got out from behind a parked car, while some more people who had taken cover behind the building came running out. Steve got up and walked over to Maria. She still lay on the ground, and Steve's eyes opened wide in terror when he saw the stream of crimson spilling from her back and pooling at her left side.

"Maria," he said in deep whisper. He knelt down and picked up her wrist, feeling for a pulse. It was there, but faint.

"Someone call an ambulance!" he heard a man yelled. A woman rushed from the walkway where she just had just come to see what had happened and went back into her apartment, where Steve, though dazed, could see her picking up her telephone through her window.

 **IV**

The ambulance took Maria away while HPD secured the scene and kept onlookers from trampling over and compromising the crime scene. Steve gave his statement to an HPD officer while Che Fong hurried to gather whatever forensic evidence he could, and the forensic photographer snapped away at the bullet holes, pottery fragments, and blood.

Steve saw Danno taking the statement of the woman who went into her apartment after the shooting. She was clutching her housecoat at the collar, trying to fend off the evening chill. Danno thanked her and he went over to Steve. The look of alarm on his partner's face signaled to Steve that Danno feared he had been shot, too, and still was trying to process the fact that his boss was unharmed, at least physically.

Danno put his hand on his boss's shoulder, gently squeezing it as he looked at him through unusually relieved blue eyes. "You're lucky he was such a bad shot," the second-in-command quipped, trying to lighten things.

"Either that or blind as a bat!" Steve returned the levity. He put his hand on Danno's. The moment turned serious again when Danno began the hard questioning.

"Steve …" he began, "Manicote and Stewart are going to be asking a lot of questions. I think we need to get them sorted out now." Stewart was Walter Stewart, Hawaii's irascible attorney general. His bite was sharp and fierce when it needed to be, but he could also be patient and understanding when the moment suited him. Right now, Steve knew he would get little of the latter and much of the former if Walter Stewart were questioning him now. Manicote would be somewhat gentler, but not by much.

"Why were you driving Maria home?" Danno asked.

"For the simple reason of getting to know her so I could determine if she was the mole at Pearl Harbor," Steve replied. "She asked me to take her home."

"Did she seem uneasy, afraid?" asked Danno. The wheels were turning in Danno's head. Maria asked Steve to take her home, where they get ambushed by a sniper waiting in the shadows? Only Maria knew he was coming with her. She had no time to tip anyone off in case the shooter was after him, and if they were going to kill him, they would have done so. That sniper had the best vantage point.

"No, just … unhappy. She talked about her past… her childhood, why she came to Hawaii, getting picked on for being Russian … I let her talk to see what she would reveal, where she would go … she didn't let on anything to make me suspicious of her, but it's a spy's job to act." Steve ran his hand through the tuft of hair that fell over his forehead, gently sweeping it aside.

"Did she say anything when the shots rang out – like call out someone's name?"

"No. I just heard her scream and pushed her down. She screamed something out in Russian, but I couldn't make out what it was."

"Around what time did you get here?" Danno asked.

"It was a few minutes after seven-thirty. I remember it said seven-thirty-one after I made the turn on the cross street before turning into the parking lot," Steve replied. Danno wrote it down in his notebook. "The shots started as soon as we got out of the car."

Danno looked around. Across the street was another apartment building, constructed in the traditional style of vertical bar consisting of ten floors. The other buildings on that street were of a similar edifice.

"It most likely came from there," Steve said, pointing at the building.

"Let's have a look." Danno put his pen and notebook into his pocket and he and Steve crossed the street. The building's hallways were clean, with the interior walls painted light beige and the floor covered in a thin maroon carpet. The landlady appeared in her doorway with her hair in curlers and clad in a green bathrobe. She was Hawaiian, and taller than Danno. A TV blared on the background, showing an anchorman was delivering the nightly news.

"What can I do for you?" she asked in a voice that sounded like it was dipped in honey, belying her sparse appearance.

"We're from Five-O," Danno said as he and Steve showed her their badges and introduced themselves. "We're investigating a shooting that occurred across the street this evening.

The landlady – who said her name was Leilani – was not even shocked. "I heard the gunshots," she replied. "I didn't know where they were coming from. I was about to call the police, but then I heard the sirens, so I figured someone else did."

"Did anyone rent a room here recently, like in the past twenty-four hours?" Danno asked.

"There was a man who rented a room on the fifth floor two days ago," Leilani said. She took them to the fifth floor and led them to door numbered 5G and knocked on it, but no one answered.

"Police! Open up!" Danno called. There was still no answer.

Leilani took out a set of keys from her bathrobe pocket. Searching through them till she found the right one, she slowly opened the door and quickly darted to the right, expecting to be hit with a barrage of bullets. Steve and Danno made sure to be out of the way as well. They stood on the left, and quickly surveyed the room before entering. No gunshots emanated, and no other sound came from inside. Leilani peered around the doorframe and saw only the quaintly furnished living room that looked like all the others she rented.

"Stay here," Steve told Leilani.

He and Danno drew their guns and proceeded into the room slowly and quietly, pointing their guns downwards, and looking ahead and all around. The living room was empty except for the furniture. The bedroom door was ajar. Steve nodded to Danno and they went towards it.

"Police! We're armed. Come out with your hands up," Steve called. They waited, but no one came out. Steve went to the bedroom door and quickly knocked it back, then flew back against the wall as his partner did the same from his side.

At the far end of the room, a window was open, and the night breeze blew the curtains forward. Steve stared at the window. Something was keeping him from looking down, though his field of vision still made the sight on the floor directly under the window visible to him. After a minute, Steve was able to get his eyes were able to look downward, and he saw the dead figure sprawled out in a pool of blood.

 **V**

The forensics team was working overtime, and the crime scene photographer grumbled about having to step over the other technicians in the small room in order to do his job. Leilani said the dead man's name was John Brewer. That was the name he gave her when he checked in three days ago, she said. It was most likely an alias, Steve thought, but they would run Brewer's prints and find out if they matched with any on file. Brewer had sandy blonde hair, cut close to his scalp, suggesting recent military service. He lay on his back, his arms outstretched, his right leg bent at the knee with the sole of his right shoe parallel with his left leg. Brewer's clothes were dark and plain – a dark gray, long-sleeved T-shirt and black denims. His shoes were dark brown Doc Martens. His face was round and clean-shaven. His fingernails were clean. Danno found no identification in his pockets. A wallet an HPD man found on the dresser contained a Hawaiian driver's license made out to John Brewer with a photo matching the dead man's.

"Have it checked out," Steve told the HPD man. _It could still be a fake,_ he thought. He looked out the window at the scene outside. The ambulance had gone away, taking Maria bandages, I-V, and all. The forensics guys were still gathering the remnants of the shattered potted plant, while some more officers continued to take statements from witnesses. Brewer had a dead beat on Maria and him. The window gave him the perfect view.

 _Then, who shot him?_ Brewer didn't turn the gun on himself. It was an M21 and it lay two feet from his body, as though it dropped from his right hand as he was being shot.

"It's bizarre, Steve," Danno said as he stood alongside his commanding officer. "Someone managed to get in here and shoot him and get out without being seen."

"No one is that slick," Steve replied, "but there was no sign of a break-in. Leilani had to open the door with a key. There was no other way to get in."

"Unless the killer was someone he knew and he let them in. Maybe had had an accomplice who turned on him," Danno suggested.

"It could be," Steve said and he learned over to look at the bullet-riddled body. There were three gunshot wounds, one for each shot he heard.

Doc Bergman did his initial examination, then looked up at Steve. "His body temperature's ninety-seven degrees," he told him. "He's been dead at least an hour."

"That's about the time I heard the second set of gunshots," Steve replied.

"The only gun in here is that one," Che Fong said as he pointed to the M21. "We'll have to do a complete search for any extra bullets and bullet holes."

Steve and Danno looked around the room. Amidst the fading floral wallpaper, they could not discern a bullet hole, but that didn't mean they weren't there. Steve hoped there would be one, with a bullet that could not have come from the M21, so they could identify the second shooter.

Steve walked over the closet and looked inside. There were only five shirts on hangers and two pairs of shoes – one pair of sneakers and another pair of work boots – and a small suitcase on the floor. The top shelf of the closet contained a wicker basket and two smaller boxes with labels that indicated they were once used to store electronic equipment. Steve gently took out the wicker box. It contained some books and papers. He put it aside, making a mental note to get back to it later. He pulled out the other two boxes. One contained boxes of ammunition and the second contained an AM/FM radio that the box advertised. It would still have to be examined.

The shirts were ordinary sports shirts that could have come from any clothing store in Hawaii. They were all factory-made. There were no tailor's tags anywhere. The shoes were also from any one of several local department and shoe stores. It would take weeks to track down every sale, and these were shoes many men bought. The work boots suggested that Brewer worked in construction. That was a lead. The M21 was being used in Vietnam. And Brewer had a military-style haircut. Perhaps he was a recent discharge?

"Danno," Steve said. "Run a check on recent discharges from Vietnam, cross reference with anyone who is now working in construction or some of kind of blue collar work." He handed Danno the box of papers. "Have an HPD man help you label and catalogue these, then examine them."

"Got it," Danno replied. He took the box and walked out.

"Steve, look at this!" Che called. Steve walked over to where he was pointing. It was a footprint – a small footprint only about ten inches long. It was too small to be an adult male's foot. There was another one similar a few inches away.

"These look like a woman's shoes," Che said. He laid a ruler next to one footprint as the photographer snapped a photo. "I'll have to examine them closer to be sure."

"So our killer might be a woman," Steve said. "It gets more interesting by the minute."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 **I**

The inside of a hospital is never an inviting place to be. It reminds a person that they are not immortal. The scent of disinfectant, the squeaky clean waxed floors, and the nurses walking around in starched white uniforms only served to emphasize the outwardly orderly world which covered up for the blood, guts, and goriness that went on in the operating rooms. Steve waited with Danno in the hallway outside the operating room, and the minutes seemed to last hours. The clock looked like it was stuck at the same time, though it had been three hours since they arrived and Maria went into surgery. Steve sank into a chair when his legs became too tired to hold him up, and Danno went to get them coffee. He handed Steve a large, white Styrofoam cup filled with creamy brown liquid.

"Cream and sugar – the way you like it," the second-in-command said. Steve took the cup thankfully and smiled at Danno.

"Thank you," he said. He raised the cup in a faint toast. "If this keeps up, we'll be sharing more cups of coffee in a hospital waiting room – maybe in a hospital room."

Danno would have told Steve not to be so morbid but in their line of work, such thinking wasn't a jinx, it was realistic speculation. If that sniper had better aim, Steve would have been in surgery as well, fighting for his life like Maria was fighting for hers.

"Steve," Danno began, "something doesn't make sense. A sniper is an expert marksman, and Brewer shot two potted plants, the windshield in your car and another, and the building as well as Maria. They found twenty-two bullets in all. Only two went into Maria. If she was the target, he should have aimed for her when she in his field of vision and fired. You two were in sight long enough for him to get a dead beat. He could have gotten you as well." Danno's voice was tinged with alarm at the thought of what would have happened if Brewer fired at Steve.

"Maybe he wasn't after me," Steve suggested. "This means Brewer knew something about Maria we didn't." He gulped down some more coffee.

"Then she was the spy?" Danno asked.

"We don't know. We won't unless she pulls through," Steve replied. He looked at the floor.

A doctor, clad in green scrubs, a white cap and white mouth cover approached. He took off the mouth cover and Steve and Danno could see a rugged face with slightly sagging jowls looking at them through glum dark brown eyes. Steve knew what he was going to say, but hoped he was wrong.

"Mr. McGarrett and Mr. Williams?" he asked.

The men nodded. "I'm Dr. Winthrop." He extended his hand to Steve, who shook it, and then to Danno, who did the same. "Maria is in critical condition. We're hooking her up to an ET tube for the time being. One of the bullets hit her lung, and the other cut through her abdominal cavity. There's a risk of infection which we have to monitor closely. She is not in any condition to talk. We won't be able to keep her on the ET tube for very long – just a few hours. She lost a lot of blood, but she had a common type, so we were able to give her a transfusion."

"Did she say anything before you put her under?" Steve asked.

"She kept muttering something in another language," Dr. Winthrop said. "One of the nurses said it sounded like Russian." He wrung his hands and raised the white cap back to reveal a mousy brown hairline. They were then joined by a nurse, clad in the traditional starched white dress and cap. She was in her forties or older, and had a head of curly golden hair that ended at her ears. She had an air of authority about her, standing firmly next to Dr. Winthrop with her hands wrapped around each other. She didn't wait for Dr. Winthrop to introduce her.

"She said _'Oni prishli,'_ " the nurse said, speaking with an air of authority. "That means 'They've come.' She kept saying some other things. Translated into English, they were 'They're after me,' 'They've killed me,' and she kept saying two names over and over …"

"What names?" Steve asked.

The nurse paused, recollecting her thoughts, then said, " _ʽIzabella, Izabella'_ … and the other name she said was … Jane or … Jayna. She kept saying, 'Jayna, help me!'"

Steve and Danno looked at each other. Danno didn't say a word. The shock in his friend's face said it all.

 **II**

The door to Lt. Callister's office flew open, coming to a rest by bouncing off the wall and creaking forwards a few feet. Callister looked up and stared at Steve perplexedly. He furrowed his brows and stared at the Five-O chief for a few seconds, registering what he saw. The blue of Steve's eyes resembled ice once more, his lips tightened, and his jaw stretched forward.

"Steve," Callister said, trying to mask his alarm. "What's going on?"

"You tell me," Steve said as he slowly trudged in, each step emanating with silent rage. He remained standing, hovering over Callister's desk with his hands firmly on the edge. "Maria was shot yesterday."

"I heard about it, and I'm as upset as you are," Callister assured him. "Are you all right?"

Steve knew he could not come out and make the accusation he wanted to make, so he slowly and calmly recounted the previous evening to Callister.

"When they took her into the operating room, she kept saying certain things in Russian, that someone was after her … that they killed her, and she said two names. Izabella … and Jayna." Steve looked to see if Callister's facial expression would give himself away. If there was no surprise or shock, that meant Callister knew more than he let on, that he knew what Maria's real identity and why she was shot. Callister's face wasn't any more alarmed than it had been when Steve entered so abruptly. He wasn't sure what to make of it.

"You know something, Doug." Steve leaned in and looked Callister in the eye. "You know something that you haven't told me. You hid something from me, something about this girl, something I needed to know when I started working with you! Now tell me what it is!" He was roaring now, and Callister wasn't going to unravel in fear of Steve's wrath. He kept his composure and looked Steve squarely in the eyes.

"If we let you in on everything at the beginning, we couldn't be sure you wouldn't leak the information," he said, bluntly.

Steve's anger grew. He stepped back and spread his arms out with his fingers pointing upwards. "Do I look like someone who goes around blabbing government secrets?" he asked, exasperatedly.

"No, but we couldn't take a chance with what he had." Callister was still being evasive.

"What did you have?" Steve asked, losing his patience.

"Maria was a member of the spy ring," Callister answered. "She defected and came to us to tell us everything she knew. That was why she was working as my secretary. When she was supposed to be taking dictation, she was giving it."

Steve was not stunned by this revelation, given the recent turn of events, but he was still confused. "Was she the mole?"

"No," Callister replied. "We still don't know who that is."

Steve's face loosened. He looked downwards, slightly nodding his head as though to accept Callister's words – but only because the conversation would go nowhere if he continued to show his anger.

"Okay," Steve said, softly, lowering his voice a considerable number of decibels. "What did Maria tell you?"

"She gave us the names of everyone in that spy ring – as well as addresses, meeting points, information on their operations. She was heavily involved in it and decided to break away when she realize the job was too permanent. She was a sleeper. They leave her alone for some years, then they come back and make her work for them again." Callister twirled his pencil around.

"How could they make her?" Steve asked.

"By blackmail," Callister said, contempt seeping into his voice. "Maria still had relatives in Russia. If she refused to cooperate, they'd be thrown into a gulag."

"Then why was she not afraid to come forward?" Steve asked.

"They still think … or they thought … that Maria was still working for them. She was supplying them with false information about our ships' placements and security systems," Callister replied. "Maria came forward last year, and we've been trying to keep the KGB from finding out she's actually defected."

"Who else knows this?" Steve asked.

"Douglas and Norwood, and no one else," Callister replied.

"Then your mole is closer to you than you think," Steve said.

 **III**

Dmitri Liminov pulled out the cash tray and deposited the money his customer gave. He took out three one dollar bills, a quarter, two dimes, and three pennies and handed them to her. "Three dollars and forty-eight cents is your change, madam. Thank you and please come again."

The woman nodded her head and walked out with her shopping bag. Dmitri watched as she left, and as Maxim Vorontsov came in. He had a frazzled look on his face and it turned to consternation when he his eyes met with Limonov's.

"Let's go into the back," Limonov said. He told a clerk to take over behind the counter and he led Maxim into the stock room.

Maxim wasted no time, not waiting for Limonov to lock the door. "Zhurov was killed. Someone shot him as he tried to kill Maria and McGarrett."

"Is Maria dead?" Limonov asked.

"No, she was shot, but is still alive. She is in the hospital now." Maxim wiped his hand across his forehead. "McGarrett survived as well. He wasn't injured."

Limonov could not believe what he heard. There was no way their plan could fail. "Zhurov was one of our best snipers. He was trained by our army and carried out many assassinations. Only you and I knew he was here. Did you tell anyone else?"

Maxim shook his head. "No, of course not. You made all the arrangements with him. I never saw him."

"I told him what had to be done, and the rest was up to him," Limonov said. He went to a table where the morning newspaper lay. He hadn't looked at the paper in the morning. The headline read, "FIVE-O MAN INVOLVED IN SHOOTING AT APARMENT HOUSE." The subheading read, "One Dead, One Injured."

"McGarrett shot him?" Limonov asked.

"No," Maxim replied. "I don't know who did it. McGarrett could not have gotten him from that distance, with the sun going down. Someone broke into Brewer's apartment and shot him. They knew he was staying there, Dmitri, but we were so careful …"

Limonov went over his actions of the past week. "I hired Zhurov through Moscow. They sent him here, with high recommendations. He told me he controlled how he worked, and I left it at that. I had enough experience working with these snipers to know how to treat them. The only other ones who knew he was coming was headquarters in Moscow. Unless someone there is spying for the West …"

"It's a possibility," Maxim replied. "The Americans have spies everywhere like we do. They would not have known where Zhurov was staying though, but that building is a good vantage point. Anyone could discern that."

"We have to be careful from now on," Limonov said. "They'll have that girl under round-the-clock guard. She knows everything, Maxim. She knows about me and you, and Kovalykov, and everyone."

"We'll deal with her swiftly enough," Maxim said. "We need to make sure McGarrett doesn't find out anything. If he is as good as I have heard, he'll be hauling us both off to jail very soon."

"There is only one other way to get to him," Limonov said, "but we can't ask Moscow for help if there is a leak there."

"Send a message to Greg Akila at the Midnight Orchid," Maxim replied. "Send it through that camera girl who buys film from you – Ching-Lan. She'll give the note to Greg. Specify that you need someone to do a job for us. He'll know what you mean."

"Is it that important to get rid of McGarrett now?" Limonov asked. "He may not know anything, and if he is killed, the police will rip this island to shreds to find his killer."

"But they will not find us this time," Maxim assured him.

 **IV**

Steve drove into the parking lot of his apartment building and parked by the concrete fence that overlooked Ala Wai Boulevard. He got out, locked the car door, and carried his briefcase in his left hand with the evening newspaper tucked under his right arm. He walked briskly into the parking lot under the building, towards the elevator. The parking garage was dimly lit but not pitch black. It was still necessary for someone to turn on their headlights in that area. It was a few seconds before Steve noticed the car coming towards him. Its headlights were not on. The engine roared and the tires screeched as they skidded along the corner. It wasn't someone speeding to get into a parking spot. They were coming after him, speeding towards him from behind. Steve's instincts kicked in and he ran as fast as he could, trying to get out of harm's way, but the roar of the engine got louder and louder, telling him they were getting close.

Steve turned and dove between two parked cars. The speeding car proceeded down the aisle. He got to his feet and ran to the aisle on the other side. The car swerved and came back around the corner. Steve could make out it was a blue Chevy, no more than five years old. He turned and ran back to the other side where he had been walking before. He darted to another cluster of parked cars, and tried to quickly make his next move. The blue Chevy was not giving up. Steve kept running. He ran out, towards the nearest exit. The Chevy was still hot on his trail. It was not slowing down. It came at a steady pace, but fast. Steve turned to catch a quick glance. There were two people inside, staring at him expressionlessly. They might be men – it was too dark to make out any features. The driver had on some kind of hat, big and floppy.

The underground parking lot was really not that big, but now it seemed like an endless maze. It was taking Steve forever to get out. He was puffing and panting, his heart pounding. _He kept the exit door to the stairway in sight, but the Chevy was relentless_. Steve turned around every few seconds, and it was still there.

A second car came out nowhere. Steve's heart almost stopped. Did his pursuer have an accomplice? Like the Chevy, its headlights were not on, but he could hear its engine just as clear. It came at angle perpendicular to the blue car, well after Steve had run past it. He hid between two parked cars again. The second car rammed into the blue Chevy, sending it spinning into a parked car. In the dim light, he could make out that the driver of the blue Chevy had on sunglasses, and a clear-skinned face. The lips were full – and bright pink. It was the only pop of color Steve could make out in the shadowy interior of the car. It wasn't a man – it was a woman.

The car that hit it sped away. Steve had to get somewhere safe. He got a good look at the Chevy's license plate – two of the numbers and a letter. He turned to run out. There was a pay phone near the exit door. He could call for help. He stepped out, still running, not taking a chance that all was clear. That was when a third car zoomed out from a parking space. Steve felt a ton of tin ram into him. He flew several yards to his left, landing on the gravel and rolling over onto his left side, screaming in agony. He screamed out in pain, shivering, clenching his teeth, his head spinning.

 _Steve gasped for air. He didn't know if he was going to live or die._ _Who are they? What do they want from me?_ Those thoughts whirled around in his mind as Steve heard footsteps approaching. His legs hurt, and he couldn't get up. Those footsteps could belong to his attackers, looking to finish what they started. Steve would not find out just then, because his consciousness could not hold out any longer. He closed his eyes as a black, fuzzy curtain of oblivion engulfed his senses.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

 **I**

"We gather here today to bid farewell to our friend, daughter, and sister, Jayna Catherine Berringer …"

The minister stood before the flag-draped coffin, with heaps of pink, white, and red roses; pink carnations, yellow dahlias, red poppies, red and white hibiscuses, and purple bougainvillea surrounding. The colorful display was a contrast to the solemn occasion. The crowd that gathered, mostly dressed in black and dark blue, sat amongst gravestones going back one hundred years. There were Jayna's parents and her two sisters sitting next to Susie and Alia Kelly, Chin's daughters. The four girls sobbed bitterly into crumpled tissues and handkerchiefs.

Steve McGarrett sniffled, tears falling down his cheeks. Governor Jameson sat on his left, Danno on his right, each trying to console him. Steve was not going to hide his emotions on this day. The purple bruise on the side of his forehead had darkened, and Steve's fingers tugged at the cast on his left wrist. Danno gripped Steve's shoulder and sniffled continuously while his face turned pink from the tears streaming from his blue eyes. Governor Jameson remained calm and kept his grieving inside. Walter Stewart was expressionless. Duke Lukela's eyes watered, and he looked on angrily, probably wishing he could get his hands on Jayna's killers. Ken Nishimura was stoic as always but deep inside, he was holding back tears.

Chin, his wife, Kono, Jenny, Che, Doc, and John Manicote, the district attorney, were at the end of the front row. Jenny could not hold back her tears at all. Her handkerchief was sopping wet. Chin's wife was stronger than most in her handling of grief. Even now, she held her head up high. She put her arm around her husband, and looked straight ahead. Kono remained as stoic as the Governor and Mrs. Kelly. His thoughts flittered from one memory of Jayna to the next: How she would always give him the French fries from her lunch, knowing how much he liked them; the jokes she would play on him every April Fools' Day, and when she would always jab him about his weight, though she would end her comments with a smile and a wink to let him know she was only playing. Aside from the kindness and devilish sense of humor, Kono remembered that she was one of the most dedicated policewomen he knew.

"Into your gentle arms we commend her gracious spirit. Take her to yourself and give her safe haven. Though she struggled in life, now she knows your blessed peace." The minister spoke in a peaceful, yet powerful tone, trying hard to deliver his message while everyone else was in the midst of grief. Despite being outdoors, with a rushing wind sweeping about, he could be heard yards away.

Steve choked against tears. He was trying to control himself, but he had suppressed his grief for too long. He was only human, and it was a matter of time before his emotions would be tested. He bent over slightly, buried his head in his hands, and sobbed. The Governor patted his back gently. Danno handed his boss a handkerchief, and Steve started to wipe his eyes and cheeks.

He was glad that the reporters were being respectful and not snapping photos right and left. A select bunch was invited, provided they kept a low profile. They sat in the last row and kept silent.

"For all that question will find answers, and all that love will find contentment, joy, and peace eternal. For now we see as through a glass darkly, but then we shall see clearly, face to face," the minister went on.

Steve stared at the coffin. He thought of the girl lying inside, the life that was cut short, the dreams that will never be fulfilled, and the grief that would never end. _Was it all over some crummy gangster and his illegal drug sales? Was that why Jayna had to die?_ The thought made him weep more. He could feel Danno leaning on his shoulder, drying away tears. The Governor kept his hand on Steve's back. Jayna's parents were emotionless. Steve was not surprised. Jayna said that she was not close to them.

The wind was settling down, and the minister started to speak of Jayna's life, her kindness, and her dedication to law, order, and the people of Hawaii. Steve had experienced that dedication firsthand, and hoped he would have the same in finding her killer. He clenched his fists, trying to control the rage he was feeling. _They would pay, they all would. Everyone who was responsible_ , Steve promised, thinking silently.

"For as much as it has pleased Almighty God to take out of this world the soul of Jayna Berringer, we therefore commit her body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, looking for that blessed hope when the Lord Himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God, and the dead in Christ shall rise first. Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so shall we ever be with the Lord, wherefore comfort one another with these words," the minister continued.

 _Comfort_ , Steve thought, _what comfort_?

Two police officers folded the flag that covered the casket and presented it to Steve, who accepted it while holding back tears. He was told before the ceremony that Jayna had made a request some time ago that should she ever be killed in the line of duty, that the flag that covered her coffin would be given to him. Steve was not in any condition to question that now.

The mourners filed past her coffin to lay flowers on it and offer their condolences to her family, and then they went to Steve. They told him how sorry they all were, shook hands with him, Danno, and the Governor, and made their exits. Danno gently urged Steve to get up, taking his right arm. The Governor supported him on the other side. The reporters started to approach. Knowing Steve was in no mood to talk, they directed their questions at Governor Jameson and Danno.

"Governor," one reporter spoke directly, "have there been any developments in the case?"

"Nothing other than what you already know," he told them kindly and sincerely.

"There are no new leads as of yet, but Five-O and HPD are working around the clock to find the killer, along with our other cases," Danno said, adding "our other cases" to ensure Jayna's murder wasn't being given top priority because she was a detective, all so that the reporters who might hear won't accuse Hawaii Five-O of giving special treatment in solving murders.

The photographers were given permission to take photos, provided they didn't get in anyone's way and invade the privacy of the mourners. Steve wiped his tears and tried to put on a brave front, so all of Hawaii didn't see him breaking down on the front page of the newspapers that afternoon and the following morning. Amidst the flashes of light from the cameras, Steve could see the other mourners walking through the cemetery gates, till the crowd dwindled down. Now it was just him, Governor Jameson, Danno, Chin, Kono, Che, Doc, Manicote, Stewart, Duke Lukela, Ken Nishimura, and a few HPD officers.

"Mr. McGarrett?" one young reporter asked. Steve turned to see a freckle-faced boy in glasses holding a notepad and pencil. The boy looked to be no more than seventeen or eighteen. He was probably from a high school or college newspaper.

"Yes, son?" Steve asked.

"My name is Andy Baxter. I'm from Farrington High and I'm covering the funeral for our newspaper. I'm sorry for your loss," the boy began.

"Thank you."

"I wanted to know if you had anything to say about finding Miss Berringer's killers. We …" the boy was trying to overcome shyness and was searching for the right words. "We remember her from when she came to our school on Career Day. She talked about joining the police force, and my older sister decided to become a policewoman because of her."

For the first time in a while, Steve smiled. Knowing that Jayna made an impact on someone made the pain easier to bear.

"Andy, Jayna was one of the finest human beings I ever had the pleasure of knowing," Steve told him. "She was a dedicated and devoted police officer who always put the safety of others before her own. If it takes me the rest of my life, I will find who killed her, and that's not a threat, that's a promise."

Andy wrote every word down fervently. The kid thanked him, told him he would send him a copy of the newspaper the minute it was printed, and walked away. The rest of the press corps made their exits as well.

Steve stared back at the coffin. Two cemetery workers then set about lowering it into the ground. _Good-bye, Jayna_ , Steve said to her, silently. Steve thought about Andy, his sister, and the other kids like them who were living in a world where so much violence and cruelty can exist. All that people like he could do was to catch the depraved souls who caused the misery to go around, and prevent others from following in their footsteps. However, there was always going to be a price to pay.

Jayna's father, sisters, and another woman walked up to them. Mr. Berringer extended his hand.

"Thank you, Steve," he said, shaking Steve's hand. "I know you did all you could. Jayna always talked about you. You hung the moon, as far as she was concerned." Steve was stunned. He never knew that Jayna really felt that way about him.

"She told us you were the finest man that ever lived," Jayna's older sister, Yvonne, said through sniffles.

"Thank you," Steve said, kissing her extended hand. Jayna's youngest sister, Patty, could only nod her head through tears, but she managed to wrap her arms tightly around Steve. They all walked away, a sad group, but no worse off than he. The other woman remained. Steve noticed her sitting behind Jayna's parents and sisters, but didn't pay much mind to who she could be. There were so many people at the cemetery, because Jayna was loved by so many.

She had red hair, like Jenny, cut short so it fanned out from her head like flaming rings. Her makeup was simple but not invisible, and she waited till Jayna's other relatives walked away before speaking. She introduced herself as Jayna's aunt. She expressed her condolences, to which Steve thanked her, and she walked away.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. "Are you alright, Steve?" Danno asked. "We can stay a while longer, if you like."

"No, that's all right. I'll come back later," Steve told his second-in-command softly, "when they've all gone." Danno nodded, patting his boss on the shoulder. "So help me, Danno, if it takes me the rest of my life, I'll find the people who killed Jayna, and make sure they pay."

Danno had no doubt that his boss was serious and was going to make good on that threat. "Just let me at them when you're through with them," he replied grimly.

Manicote stood, his arms folded, looking away silently and sadly. Che Fong and Doc stared the ground, digging the toes of their shoes into the soft earth. None of the team wanted to depart separately. They all stood around together, silent, reflecting, and sad. Steve looked back at the casket as it was lowered into the ground, knowing that a part of his life was over forever.

 **II**

Wo Fat stood on the bridge, admiring the pink lotuses floating on the surface of the pond. His reflection dispersed with the rippling water, and the Chinese spy laughed. He turned to see Xiaotong come hurrying up the bridge.

"Berringer's funeral was today," the assistant said. "McGarrett was not injured that badly when the car hit him."

"That was the intention," Wo Fat replied, turning to his aid.

"Perfect timing," Wo Fat replied. He turned to look back at the water, and throw some bread crumbs to the giant carp that were swimming around the lotuses. The golden fish scurried, gobbling up the breadcrumbs as though it was their last meal. He poured some more crumbs into the water. "We still have one more murder to commit, Xiaotong." Wo Fat flecked the last bread crumbs from his fingers into the pond. "Not really a murder, per se, of a living person, but a further attack on someone who is already dead."

Xiaotong nodded. "I'll make sure it is done within the day."

"Not yet. We should allow for a suitable period of mourning to pass, but as long as Mr. McGarrett doesn't find out on the day of the funeral, it will be fine. Let him have some peace the day he buries Miss Berringer." Wo Fat turned back to feed the fish, retaining his somber look from before.

 **III**

Steve sat in the cream leather armchair in front of his desk. On the table next to him was a tall glass of water, filled to the brim with ice cubes, and small bottle of painkillers. He was supposed to go back to the hospital in a few hours, but nothing could keep him from working. He couldn't just sit still and grieve. He could not put Jayna's death out of his mind. He went back to his office to think.

These thoughts went spinning around and around in Steve's mind, creating a web of confusion and pain. He bent forward, holding his face in his hands, and sobbed. He tried to stop the tears from falling, but it was no use. He stared up into space for a few minutes, clearing the never-ending tears and trying to collect his thoughts. Through the blur, he could see Jayna Berringer's face. They were back on the beach in Waikiki, on the night of a full moon similar to this. They were doing surveillance work on a drug pusher. It was a long and uneventful night, but they had to keep their watch. Jayna started talking, about her past...

She was from Southern California, raised on the family's produce farm. Her parents were from two opposite ends of the world. Her mother was an Indian-Mexican from Southern California. She met Jayna's father, an American of German and English extraction from New Jersey, when he came to California to look for work. He was smitten with her from the moment they first locked eyes. From having seen a photo of Jayna's mother in her younger days, Steve was not surprised. Mrs. Berringer had the same raven hair, chocolate eyes, and enchanting smile.

They were married in August of nineteen thirty-six. Jayna was born five years later, after her older sister, Yvonne. World War II was starting to spread all over Europe, and Mr. Berringer, once his number came up in the weeks after Pearl Harbor, joined the air force and was sent to England. When Lt. Berringer's tour of duty was over, he went back to California. Their farm was not too far away from where Steve grew up in Van Nuys, and he recalled going there with his parents as a child, so they could buy fresh strawberries and oranges. He also remembered one day when he was around fourteen years old, that he heard his mother congratulate the Berringers on their baby girl who was born a few weeks earlier. Steve's teenage interests of sports and girls his own age meant his trips to Berringers' farm were over, and then came the Naval Academy, and his career in military intelligence that lasted till nineteen sixty-one, when Governor Jameson asked him to lead Hawaii Five-O.

The Berringers were a distant memory, one that was tucked away in the deep crevices of his mind, till one day, he was assigned an intelligence case, which Five-O would be working on with Intelligence. He walked into Jonathan Kaye's office to see a pretty, dark-haired girl in a green dress sitting in a chair in front of Kaye's desk.

"Steve McGarrett, meet Jayna Berringer," Kaye said. "She's one of our best operatives and she'll be working with you on this assignment." Steve was beguiled, but not amazed. Jayna proved to be an asset to him on that case, but also proved herself to be worthy of working with him. She focused on her job but not to the point of engaging in a power struggle like some of the women Steve worked with before had done. For Jayna, it was not about asserting herself as a woman by denigrating the men around her, but by finding doing what she needed to do and knew how to do in order to survive.

"I'm just a girl earning a living," she told Steve. Three years and a stint in HPD later, Jayna was wearing a Five-O badge and working out of Iolani Palace.

Steve and Jayna's relationship was more of a deep friendship – deeper than mentor-protégé, but not romantic, though that did not stop Steve from having strong feelings for her. He had an intuition that she felt something more for him as well. Because of their official positions, though, Steve had to keep his feelings in check and keep things on a professional level. They became nothing more than the best of friends of colleagues. Steve started to tear up again when he heard a knock from the door.

"Who is it?" he called out.

"It's me, Steve," came Danno's reply. "May I come in?"

"Yes, Danno, come on in," Steve took a sip of the ice cold water. It did little to soothe him, having already taken a painkiller, and he hoped Danno's company would help more. His curly-haired second-in-command entered, closing the large door behind him softly. He didn't want to make too much noise, knowing how that could play on Steve's nerves. Steve got up, managing a look of relief when he saw his young partner. Danno offered one of the two Styrofoam coffee cups he was holding.

"Milk and sugar, the way you like it," he said.

"Thanks, Danno, what would I ever do without you?" the Five-O Chief said.

Danno smiled at his boss as he handed him the cup. The two men sat down and sipped the coffee. Steve rested his head back in the armchair, looking at the ceiling.

"None of us could get any work done today," Danno said. "Chin went home. His children were very fond of Jayna, especially Susie and Alia." Danno thought back to the Easter picnic, which all the Five-O and HPD crew and their families attended. He remembered Jayna and Chin's two older daughters engaging in a volleyball game ended with Susie hitting the ball into a banyan tree several yards away, and Jayna climbed in to get it out. Danno smiled to himself a little as he pictured the scene, still hearing the girls' laughter.

"Why, Danno," Steve began, speaking softly and looking into space. "What was she doing out there?"

Danno didn't have an answer, though he wished he did. He wished he knew what was happening, wished he was there to go with Jayna that morning. Maybe then, she wouldn't have been killed …

"Only she knew," he said.

Steve clenched his teeth and his fist. He pounded the armrest. "She didn't tell me! She didn't tell me … that's what hurts … she never kept a secret from me! The FBI knew all about what she was doing, but I didn't!" He swallowed hard and tears started to form at the corners of his eyes. Danno handed him some tissues. After wiping his face, he went on. "He has to be found … that scumbag that killed Jayna!" Steve's voice rose with every sentence.

Danno went to his boss's side and put his hand on his shoulders. "Calm down, Steve." With one arm and one leg in a cast, Steve was in no condition for an outburst. He stared at the wall, seething. The anger was not directed at his assistant, but Danno hurried his words along.

"There is some good news, though not a huge comfort. It's not going to bring Jayna back, but the grand jury just indicted Frank Prather for illegal gambling, extortion, and illegal sale of firearms. Manicote says they're trying to tie him to Jayna's murder, but we need evidence. So far, the only way to link him is through Jayna's investigation."

"Good work, _Aikane_." Steve opened and closed his fist, clenching it tightly. "Whoever is responsible, we'll nail him." His tone was colder than the ice in his drinking glass. It made Danno shiver, and made him thankful that he was on Steve's side.

 **IV**

People went about their business. It was just another day in their lives. Cars drove up and down the street, and children walked home from school. Housewives with grocery bags – complete with French bread loves sticking out – hurried home. There was a knock on the door, and it opened. A red-haired woman in a pink dress came in, clutching a grocery bag.

"Hiya, sweetie," she said, making her way into the kitchen and putting groceries away. "I hope you like honey roasted turkey and provolone. The store was out of Swiss."

"It's fine, Penny," the girl who opened the door for her replied. "Did you go by the Punchbowl Cemetery?"

Penny put the milk bottle in the refrigerator. "I sure did. It was a grand affair, twenty-one-gun salute and all. I told Steve I was your aunt. He bought it. They gave the flag to him as you asked …" She hesitated. "The poor thing broke down as he took it and the governor and Danno had to hold onto him."

The girl sighed. She picked up the newspaper. There was an article on the bottom of the front page about the search for Jayna Berringer's killer, and how Five-O was still interviewing witnesses. The girl shook her head sadly at the article and put the paper on the table. She put her head down and closed her eyes.

"Listen, kid," the redhead said to her. "The security of Hawaii and the world depends on us. In the end, you'll find it was all worth it."

"Nothing is worth making Steve McGarrett cry," said Jayna Berringer.


End file.
